


Cogita Ante Salis - Look before you leap.

by steeleye



Series: Back in the SPQR. [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Rome
Genre: Buffy the Vampire Slayer with 'Rome' season 2., Crossover Story, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss saying a spell, Willow accidentally transports herself back to Egypt at the time of Anthony and Cleopatra. Can she survive long enough to carve out a new life for herself? Book Two of the 'Back in the SPQR' series of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cogita Ante Salis.

Look before you leap.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy) or ‘ROME’ (HBO/BBC). I write these stories for fun not profit. The snatches of scripts from both BtVS and ROME that I’ve used/stolen weren’t written by me either.

 **Crossover:** BtVS Season four with Season two ‘ROME’.

**Spelling, Punctuation and Grammar;** Written in glorious English-English. Roman and English idioms are used throughout this fic.

**Timeline:** For BtVS, Season Four episode; 4:9, ‘Something Blue’. Spoilers for Episodes 2:9 and 2:10 of ‘ROME’. Book Two of the Back in the SPQR series.

**Words:** Ten Chapters.

**Warnings:** First chapters include scenes of gang rape. There after strong language and violence. 

Summary: Willow accidentally transports herself back to Egypt at the time of Anthony and Cleopatra. Can she survive long enough to carve out a new life for herself? Book Two of the 'Back in the SPQR' series of stories.

0=0=0=0

A/N1; Chapters One and Two are basically a non-xover; Lucius Vorenus turns up in Chapter Three.

A/N2: This is not an essay on the late Roman Republic; the timeline is taken very much from the TV series. I’ve also altered Roman society a bit here and there to make the plotline fit. This is a fanfic story not an academic work.

0=0=0=0

Book Two.

Cogita Ante Salis.

The Prologue.

**Tuesday, 30th November 1999.**

For a midweek evening The Bronze was really buzzing; a band played and the dance floor was filled with happy young people working off the frustrations of the day by dancing ‘til they dropped. At a table a little distance from the dance floor Anya, Xander and Buffy sat gossiping and sharing a friendly non-alcoholic drink.

“Geez, you mean Oz just sent for his stuff and didn't even call her?” Xander shook his head sadly, “that’s pretty harsh.”

“I only wish I had my powers back,” sipping her drink Anya glanced at her boyfriend, “I'd liquefy his entrails for her.”

“That's sweet.” Xander smiled at Anya indulgently before looking over to the dance floor, “god, poor Will. No wonder she's…” Xander’s eyes grew wider seeing Willow on the dance floor, “…having a wonderful time.”

The three friends turned to watch as Willow danced happily about the floor with another young woman.

“Wow,” Buffy gave a low whistle, “way to re-bound.”

“I believe that's the dance of a brave little toaster,” announced Xander proudly.

Seeing her friends Willow exchanged a few words with the girl she’d been dancing with before going over to join her ‘best-buds’; she smiled happily as she approached.

“Hey, guys!” if Willow had grinned any harder her head would have split in two, “C'mon! This music's great!” Willow performed a little jig as if to prove her point.

“It's nice to see you brought your boogie shoes tonight, Will,” Xander cast Anya and Buffy a worried look.

“Yeah,” gasped Willow giddily, “I-I know I've been sort of a party-poop lately, so I said to myself, ‘Self!’ I said, ‘It's time to shake and shimmy it off’.”

“Sounds like a good policy,” Buffy’s words belied her true feelings; she’d never seen her friend act like this before.

“Yeah! And it works, too. You know, I figure, in the grand scheme of things, we're all just…” Willow bent to pick up her jacket from where it was lying under the table, a beer bottle slipped from her pocket and rolled across the floor spilling beer as it went.

“Drunk..?” Buffy asked frowning; Willow laughed and picked up the bottle.

“Drunk?” swaying slightly Willow held on tightly to the beer bottle, “I mean, that's such a-a strong word…kind of a guttural Anglo-Saxon word…drunk.”

“Will,” sighed Xander sadly, “not loving the drowning of the sorrows.”

“Not drowning…wading. A-a-and…see?” Willow pointed at the bottle, “Light beer. No big.”

“No big?” A hint of disbelief crept into Buffy’s voice, “Anyone remember when Buffy had the fun beer-fest and went one-million years B.C.?”

“Sadly without the fuzzy bikini…” Xander sighed wistfully.

“Off topic, Xander.” Anya gave her boyfriend a warning look.

“Right, topic now,” Xander walked around the table to where Willow swayed gently in the breeze, “Will, how about you give me that beer?”

“No!” Willow held the bottle out of Xander’s reach, “Why should I? I've got pain, here…”she thumped her chest over her heart, “big-time legitimate pain.”

Reaching for the bottle Xander explained that they all had ‘pain’.

“Oh, like what?” Willow retreated unsteadily from Xander’s grasp, “‘Oh, poor me…I live in a basement.’ Yeah, that's dire.”

Offended Xander shook his head and went back to the table where he sat down next to Anya who she put a supportive hand on his shoulder. Buffy, however, jumped down from her seat and grabbed Willow firmly by the arm; she wrenched the bottle from the red-head’s hand.

“Okay, you know what?” Buffy was starting to get annoyed now, “That's it…I'm taking you home.”

“No,” Willow tried to break Buffy’s grip but failed, “I don't want to.”

“Well, you'll thank me when you still have a friend in the morning.”

All of a sudden Willow gave up the struggle; she looked miserably around the table at her friends. “I just can't stand feeling this way; I want it to be over.”

“It will,” Buffy placed her arm around Willow’s shoulder, “I promise, but it's gonna take time.”

“Well, that's not good enough,” still more than a little drunk Willow allowed herself to be guided towards the door.

“I know…it's just how it is…you have to go through the pain,” Buffy waved goodnight to Xander and Anya as she and Willow headed out onto the street.

“Well, isn't there some way I can just make it go away?” Willow asked plaintively, “Just ‘cause I say so? Can't I just make it go ‘poof'?”

0=0=0=0

Later that night, back at their dorm room, Buffy lay fast asleep as Willow crept out of bed and opened the trunk that contained her magic supplies. Quietly she selected a few objects and a rather large leather bound book. On tip-toe she headed for the door, her heart jumped as the door squeaked loudly as she pulled it open. Looking nervously back at Buffy’s bed she saw her friend stir fitfully in her sleep; Willow stepped out into the corridor.

Closing the door behind her as quietly as she could Willow ran stealthily along the corridor to the women’s washroom. Not bothering to switch on the light she hurriedly searched through her hastily collected paraphernalia. Taking a marker pen she quickly drew a circle on the floor and then placed a dozen red candles around herself as she sat in the centre of the circle. Next she placed an incense censer, and a bowl on the floor in front of where she sat. Sitting cross-legged in the centre of the circle she held a goblet of wine in one hand and her spell book in the other. After reading the instructions she placed three small bowls containing herbs next to the other objects. Finally she settled herself to begin the spell.

“Harken all ye elements,” Willow read aloud from her spell book by the light of the candles, “I summon thee now.” She dripped some wine into the empty bowl before adding some of the herbs. “Control the outside, control within. Land and sea, fire and wind. Out of my passions, a web be spun. From this eve forth, let my will be done. So mote it be!”

Pouring the rest of the wine into the bowl a flicker of electricity connected her to the candles. The flames suddenly flared high to illuminate the room. Just for a moment Willow looked fearfully about thinking that she may have gone too far with this spell, but slowly the candles subsided and eventually went out leaving her in total darkness. Deciding to try out the spell straight away, Willow thought for a moment about what she wanted.

“It is my will,” Willow intoned, “that all my heartache would go away and I have a better life...so mote it be!”

After saying the spell nothing appeared to have changed, Willow still felt the great yawning chasm in her chest left there by Oz's departure. Feeling slightly relieved that the spell hadn't worked she climbed to her feet and felt gritty sand between her toes.

“That’s odd,” she whispered as a light came on behind her; turning she saw the sun rise over the desert.

0=0=0=0

**Sometime late in the 1st Century BCE.**

“Please buy me, please buy me.” Willow whispered her mantra as her prospective owner walked around her slowly.

Standing with her head bowed looking at the sandy ground of the slave market; she knew better than to look a customer in the eye. Her arms hung limply by her sides as she trembled in her ragged, dirty cotton dress; she knew what would happen to her if she wasn’t sold today, Akakios the Greek would sell her to a brothel. The customer, a tall Egyptian man in his early forties, poked her in the ribs and squeezed her breast painfully, she knew better than to resist or even complain, Willow had always been quick to learn her lessons.

“She’s a bit skinny,” the Egyptian spoke in heavily accented Greek.

“She’ll soon fatten up after a week or two,” Akakios reassured him.

Muttering about the expense of feeding slaves the Egyptian pulled Willow’s head back and forced her mouth open 

“Good teeth,” he let her go and let her go back to studying the ground, “I don’t know.” He said more to himself than Akakios, “She’s very pale and her hair’s the wrong colour…it’s not coloured is it?”

“I know she doesn’t look like much now, y’honour,” Akakios cast Willow a baleful glance and she began to tremble all the more, “but clean her up and she’ll provide you with years of useful service…and consider the novelty value sir. I mean there can’t be that many red haired slave girls in Egypt now…can there?”

“Weeeell,” for a moment hope grew in Willow’s heart as the Egyptian considered his position, but then all her expectations were dashed, “no…no, you can’t tempt me, Akakios, now if she was straw haired I might have reconsidered.”

0=0=0=0

“Stupid-stupid slave,” Willow mumbled as one of the guards led her back to her cage, all the other slaves had been sold and she had the cage to herself, “should’ve been sold today.”

“Bleedin’ right you should,” the guard opened the cage and pushed her inside, “anyway their loss is my gain…on y’back,” he ordered.

Obediently Willow lay down on her back and opened her legs, it was better if she didn’t resist. The guard knelt down between her legs and pulled aside her rags before massaging his penis to full stiffness. Willow whimpered a little as the guard lay down on top of her body and thrust himself roughly into her; this time he was mercifully quick and he didn’t hit her. The guard grunted as he came; then, having finished with her he stood up and rearranged his tunic before locking the cage door behind him.

The first time Willow had been gang raped, not long after she had been picked up by the slave train, they’d beaten her for fighting back. They'd beaten her again, when she tried to resist the second time they raped her after she’d tried to run away; she didn’t need to be beaten after that, she had learnt her lesson.

“You’re an odd one you are,” the guard looked down at her, Willow tried to wrap her rags around herself as she curled up in a ball in the corner of the cage, “mad or not it’s the brothel for you tomorrow.” 

He put a bucket of water next to the cage where she could reach it, after all there was no reason for him to be cruel, the poor mad woman needed to drink just like everyone else. The guard turned and whistled happily as he walked away, it would soon be dark and he could go down to the wine shop for a jar or two. Who knows, he thought, maybe he’d screw ‘old Red’ one last time when he got back…just for old times sake. He laughed at the idea and hurried to collect his pay for the day.

0=0=0=0

**Some weeks earlier.**

Having completed her spell Willow found herself, dressed only in her pyjamas, surrounded by sand and stunted bushes. As the sun rose over the horizon she realised that she was in deep trouble. Not only had the spell gone horrendously wrong she was also standing in an area of semi-desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. After panicking and crying and beating herself up for being stupid and incompetent she calmed down a little. Realising that standing there telling herself how stupid she was wasn’t actually helping, she pulled herself together and taking her bearings from where the sun had risen she started to walk north.

North had seemed like as logical direction to go as any other; Willow knew she should walk with the sun on her right in the morning and on her left in the afternoon. Of course that assumed she was in the northern hemisphere, and on Earth. As the hours went by the sun beat down on her and she realised that water was soon going to be a problem. Walking onward, Willow looked in vain for any sign of life but there was none. As the sun set Willow stumbled to a halt in the lee of a large boulder, she fell onto the sand and pulled the inadequate protection of her pyjama jacket around her shoulders, before falling into a fitful and dream haunted sleep.

0=0=0=0

Waking up in the middle of the night, Willow shivered and listened fearfully to the distant howls of wolves or coyotes. As dawn approached she got wearily to her feet, chose a spot on the horizon and started to walk towards it. By mid-morning she began to suffer the effects of having no food or water, she staggered as thirst, hunger and exhaustion took their toll. By midday she was walking as if in a daze, not really knowing what she was doing or where she was going she lurched on like a zombie out of a Michael Jackson video. It was late afternoon when her glazed eyes saw movement at the bottom of a shallow valley that ran east to west in front of her.

“Hey!” shouting feebly she lurched forward pushing herself into a shambling run; “Hey!” she cried hoarsely, “Wait up!”

Hope blossomed like a perfect flower in her heart when she realised that the group of people and animals had stopped.

“Thank-you…thank-you!” she gasped almost crying with relief; she saw a figure on a horse turn and ride towards her.

The rider approached her at a fast trot, his horse’s hooves kicking up the sand as he drew level with her.

“Water!” she begged sinking to her knees in a mixture of relief and exhaustion, “I gotta have water.”

The rider looked at Willow closely for a few seconds before leaning down from his horse; taking hold of the back of her pj's he heaved her up and across his saddle. Finding herself so roughly handled Willow cried out in alarm as the rider turned his horse to rejoin the little convoy.

“Hey do you mind?” Willow croaked as she bounced up and down on the saddle expecting to throw-up at any moment.

It only took a couple of minutes before Willow found herself unceremoniously dumped on the ground next to a small cart. The rider said something in a guttural language that she didn’t recognise to one of his fellows. This man jumped from his horse grabbed Willow under the arms and lifted her, none too gently, into the back of the cart.

“Hey careful where you put your hands,” Willow tried to push away the man’s hands that had somehow found their way under her jacket; the man laughed coarsely and cuffed her on the side of the head.

“Oww!” Willow squeaked, “Hey! What was that for?”

Again the man laughed before forcing the end of a damp animal skin into her mouth and squeezing. Spluttering and coughing Willow felt the water spill over her chest, realising what was happening she sucked greedily on the water skin only to have it pulled from her grasp after she had only taken a couple of mouthfuls.

“You shut up, lay there,” the man with the water skin said in thickly accented English, “get more later,” he laughed nastily and remounted his horse.

0=0=0=0

As the sun dropped in the west the guard who’d spoken to her before gave her more water a little at a time and Willow started to take an interest in her surroundings. There were four or five men in dirty white robes mounted on horses. Each carried a sword and a bow attached to their saddles along with various saddle bags, water bags and sacks. There were two carts pulled by what looked like mules these were led by swarthy dark-haired men in short off white tunics, they were armed with either small swords or really big knives. The rest of the little caravan was made up of thirty or so men and women who walked listlessly along behind the carts.

Trying to puzzle out what was going on, Willow attempted to engage the horsemen in conversation. They either didn’t understand her or were ignoring her, they did however chatter animatedly amongst themselves casting Willow lascivious glances as they did so. Starting to feel uncomfortable with the looks the horsemen were giving her, she began to wonder if these men were really her saviours.

By the time the sun had touched the horizon the convoy had stopped and made camp. The unarmed people had to do all the work and Willow was set to collecting firewood by the English speaking horseman. A couple of the older women started to mix what looked like oatmeal and water in a big cauldron and set it over the fire, they stirred it as it bubbled and Willow realised just how hungry she was, she’d not eaten for two days now.

Lining up with the other people she got to the fire were each person was given a wooden bowl of porridge but no spoon to eat it with. Uncertainly Willow looked around to see what everyone else was doing. Taking her cue from the people around her she started to eat using her fingers. When the meal was over the bowls were taken away and everyone was given a rough blanket…except her. Standing next to the fire Willow looked with uncertain eyes at the men who sat on the ground looking up at her.

“Hey,” Willow stammered, “I-I really appreciate you guys helping out.” She smiled nervously looking from one grinning face to another, “Now if you could just get me to the American embassy I’m sure someone there would reward you…honestly…mucho Dinah-ro.”

One of the men, he appeared to be the leader, stood up and took a couple of steps towards her, he stopped and laughed as she screamed in surprise and jumped away from him.

“Come on guys,” Willow slowly backed away from the group by the fire, turning her head she called over her shoulder to the people apparently sleeping under their blankets. “Hey! I could do with some help here.”

The leader laughed and said something to his friends which they all thought was incredibly funny as they broke into gales of laughter and slapped their knees at the humour of the situation. Distracted Willow didn’t see the leader guy move; he grabbed hold of her wrists and dragged her back towards the fire. Willow screamed and tried to twist herself free but it was like trying to break free of a vice.

“Hey! NO!” Willow beat her fists against the man’s arms as he started to tug off her pyjama trousers, “what y’think y’doin’?”

Not even Willow was that naïve; she knew precisely what they were going to do; she fought back as they laughed at her struggles. Eventually the Leader had had enough of her ineffectual efforts; he stopped laughing and shouted at her angrily. Not understanding Willow continued to fight as he pulled and ripped her clothes from her body; finally he hit her hard on the side of the head.

The stars spun in the heavens and Willow thought she was going to throw-up, she cried out in fear and pain as the leader entered her roughly, he hit her again and Willow drifted off into some semi-conscious hell where each of the guards and the carters took her one after the other. After they’d all taken their turn someone threw her a blanket and let her crawl off and cry herself to sleep.

0=0=0=0

The next morning Willow awoke just as the sun was lightening the eastern sky, looking out from under her blanket she saw that no one else was stirring. Deciding to take her chance as it had presented itself she got up as quietly as she could and started to run off into the desert in a desperate bid to escape her tormentors.

The sun was a hand’s width above the horizon when one of the horsemen caught up with her, this time he didn’t haul her up onto his horse. This time he herded her back to the convoy; toying with her as he used his horse to block her every attempt at escape. Willow hoped he might fall off his horse he was laughing so hard, but, he stayed firmly in the saddle. Exhausted she staggered back to the wagons. This time instead of letting her drink they tied her to the wheel of the cart and beat her with a cane. All the time the guard who spoke English telling her this is what she could expect if she fought them or tried to escape again.

0=0=0=0

At the end of the day Willow collapsed into a heap on the sand; she’d not been given anything to eat or drink all day even when the guards gave the other prisoners food and water. It was all part of her punishment for trying to run away. However they let her eat and drink with the others that evening before once again dragging her over to the guard’s fire where she was put through the same ordeal as the night before. This time she could only fight the men feebly and as a result she only received a token beating before they let her crawl off to sleep. On the third night she didn’t fight at all she just lay on the desert floor and let them do whatever they wanted to her. After that they let her alone for the most part only raping her three or four more times during the journey…they seemed satisfied that they’d broken her spirit.

0=0=0=0

The days passed each the same as the one before as they made their way slowly across the desert; no one seemed to be in a rush to get anywhere. Unable to find anyone who could speak English, other than the guard who now only spoke to her to give her orders. Willow was unable to work out where in the world she was and who these people were.

Reasoning that they must get to a town soon, Willow told herself nowhere on earth was that isolated that a town wasn’t near by. Once they got to a town she felt sure that she’d be able to escape and lose herself in the crowds and then notify the authorities and get herself handed over to the American embassy and eventually get sent home. Everyone must be frantic not knowing where she was, she was sure Buffy, Giles and Xander would be doing everything they could to find her. All she had to do was to hang on and not get herself killed…she’d get home eventually.

They’d been walking for about ten days when Willow caught a glimpse of a town from the crest of the ridge they were marching over. Below them lay green fields dotted with small white houses that seemed to shine in the sunlight. To the north she could see a great expanse of intensely blue water; the sea maybe? There were even sailing boats bobbing about and going to and fro. In spite of herself Willow was fascinated by the sights that met her eyes as they started down the long, gentle, slope towards the fields and houses.

As they reached the first field the caravan came to a halt and the guards got down from their horses. They took long lengths of rope from sacks in the back of one of the carts and tied them around each of the prisoner’s necks and then connected each prisoner to the rope around the neck of the prisoner in front until they formed a human daisy chain; obviously the guards where worried that someone might run off into the fields. It wasn’t until this point that Willow truly realised the fate that had befallen her. Right up until they’d tied her to the woman in front of her she had imagined that she would find a way out of her present dilemma. Now as the guard tied the rope her heart sank and despair filled her mind.

They walked on and Willow began to recognise things, but her mind rebelled from what her eyes were telling her. The way the villagers, who paused in their work to look at them, were dressed was familiar from childhood history lessons. It was only when she saw the perfectly painted ancient Egyptian temple on the banks of a small river did she allow herself to accept she’d never be going home.

Realising she’d screwed up big time with the spell, until now she’d at least thought she was somewhere on her own world and more importantly in her own time. It was only when she realised she’d somehow transported herself into the past that her last tenuous grip on reality slipped away and the mind numbing terror took over and she started to tremble uncontrollably.

0=0=0=0

“Kushjo!” Akakios slid from his horse and walked to meet his old friend, the two men embraced warmly, “Kushjo you old brigand how are you? Still alive I see!”

“Well enough friend Akakios,” the desert brigand laughed and returned the Greek’s hug slapping him on the back, “still robbing people blind I see.” Kushjo held Akakios at arms length and admired the Greek’s new clothes.

“What have you got for me this time?” Breaking free of the brigand’s grasp Akakios walked towards the line of slaves who stood at the side of the road, “Another collection of broken down cripples and fat, poxed up whores?”

“You wound me!” Kushjo laughed again clutching at his heart in mock pain, “nothing but the best for my old friend Akakios.” He led the Greek over to the line of prisoners, “there’s some good field hands and house slaves here.” He pointed out several of the slaves, “and one or two of the girls…clean them up a little and they’ll fetch a pretty drachma or ten.”

“Alright,” Akakios seemed satisfied as he studied the slaves, “assuming they’re not all poxed, I’ll give you the usual for them; how many’s that? Twenty?”

“Ha,” barked Kushjo, “you forgotten how to count? Thirty-three and that one.” 

He pointed at the cowed red head at the end of the line.

“Merciful Zeus!” Akakios walked over to inspect the girl, “Where did you find her?”

“She was wandering in the desert,” Kushjo pushed the girl out of line so Akakios could inspect her more easily, “We just picked her up for free…you can have her for two thirds the normal price.”

Akakios checked the girl’s teeth, eyes, and hands, she didn’t appear to be diseased even if she was in a daze; he’d seen that reaction more than once. No doubt she’d soon snap out of it and accept her new situation in life.

“She speaks Greek,” interjected Kushjo.

“She does?” Akakios glanced back at the brigand, “what’s your name girl?” He asked in his native tongue, she didn’t reply but she did look at him when he spoke so maybe the old thief was telling truth. “You had to beat her then and I see she’s been knocked about a bit.”

“She complained when we fucked her,” Kushjo smiled at the memory, “and she tried to run off. But after a couple of beatings she’s been as quiet as a lamb.”

“Alright I’ll give you a third.” 

“WHAT!?!?” Cried the brigand as the girl cowered away from the two men, “How am I to pay my men and keep their respect if you cheat me so? Three fifths?” 

“Half!” came Akakios’ counter offer.

“Done!” the two men shook hands on the deal.

“If you can deliver them to my compound as usual, I’ll have your money waiting for you,” Akakios signalled to one of his own men as he spoke to the bandit chief.

An Egyptian guard jumped down from his horse and took a small pot of paint and a brush from his saddle bag. He moved along the line of slaves and marked their right hands with a large red ‘A’. For the first time in her life Willow had been sold, and for a knock down price too!

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

2: 

**In the Old Souk in Alexandria.**

Akakios didn’t know what to do with the red haired girl. He had tried to question her on the off chance that she was the daughter or wife of someone rich and important and they’d want her back. He might be able to ransom her to her family, but all he got out of her was nonsense. She did, however, speak Greek like an educated woman, the only people who bothered to educate women in his homeland were the Lacadaimians and he remembered some of them had red hair so maybe she was from Sparta.

The slave dealer shrugged his shoulders he would see how much he could get for her, someone was bound to want to buy her. After only a few days he’d realised his mistake, the Egyptians had some superstition about red heads, or as near as he could work out they did. You could never quite tell with Egyptians, one week they were fine with something the next you couldn’t give whatever it was away. Chances were next month he probably wouldn’t be able to sell enough red heads. Akakios put it down to all the weird gods that the locals worshipped; instead of having sensible gods like Zeus or even Jupiter, they worshipped all manner of crazy animal headed gods and crocodiles.

The upshot of all this was he couldn’t sell the girl for love or money. After putting her on the block a couple of times he gave up and had her work around the compound. She did everything that she was told to, she emptied the slop buckets and filled the water buckets. She didn’t seem to care when his guards fucked her after a night at the wine shop; she'd just mutter oddly to herself. This was a little off putting, and if you came up behind her when she’d not noticed you she sounded as if she was talking to someone unseen; she was very strange indeed.

After a week or two Akakios had sold all his slaves except the red haired girl. He wanted to sell up as he was going back to Greece to buy a house and settle down. Perhaps become a non-active partner in some business venture where all he had to do was count his profits. He’d had his adventures and made his fortune he wanted to go home and enjoy his wealth in civilised surroundings. Tomorrow he would sell the redhead to a brothel keeper he knew, maybe he would just give her away, then he would pay off his men and head home to Greece.

0=0=0=0

It was early in the morning and Zofiya had been up most of the night and she was glad to be heading home to her bed. The birth she’d attended had been a difficult one but she’d managed to save both the child and its mother. As long as the woman didn’t die of child-bed fever, Zofiya couldn’t see any reason why they both wouldn’t live long and healthy lives. Really the mother was too young to be having children and she had told the girl’s husband in no uncertain terms that he should be more careful in future unless he wanted to kill his young wife. The man had been so grateful that his wife and child had survived, that he had accepted Zofiya’s harangue without a word of complaint.

Now she was off home with silver in her purse and not a care in the world, she would keep her shop closed today. Anyone who wanted love spells or curses could wait until tomorrow, today she was going to sleep and rest. Finding herself by the slave market, Zofiya felt herself being drawn into the maze of cages. Most of the slave pens where empty now and as it was so early in the morning, the sun was just starting to peep over the horizon; there weren’t even any guards about. 

Wandering between the cages and not knowing why she was there, Zofiya found herself standing in front of a cage that was empty except for what looked like a bundle of rags in the far corner. Holding on to the bars for support, she became aware of the power that rolled off the collection of stinking, filthy rags; she’d never felt anything quite like it in all her days. 

Working her way around the cage until she could reach in and shake the bundle she saw a thin dirty face look up at her with dull, green, frightened eyes. The creature pushed filthy red hair out of her eyes and stared through the bars at her before seemingly remembering something and casting her eyes down to the floor and shuffling away from her.

“Poor thing,” cooed Zofiya kindly, “what’s your name girl? Where are you from?”

“Mustn’t say…secret,” mumbled the girl as she curled into a ball, “gonna’ be sold today…you’ll see…gonna’ be sold.”

Zofiya gasped putting her hand to her mouth, it was obvious to her that the girl didn’t even realise the power her body contained…if she had she wouldn’t be lying in the bottom of a stinking slave pen. Zofiya knew then and there that she’d have to buy the girl and make her well again, then train her and… A thought crossed her mind, what if the girl was too far gone? What if she was so mad that no amount of love and care could bring her back? What if her powers came to the surface while she was still insane? Zofiya’s hand drifted down to the knife she carried at her waist. Wouldn’t it be easier, safer, to just reach through the bars and slit the girl’s throat?

“Oh goddess what should I do?” Zofiya pleaded.

As if in answer a small bird with a red crest flew into the cage and perched on the girl’s shoulder for a moment before flying off between the bars. It seemed to Zofiya that the goddess had spoken, she must take this poor broken girl away and train her and look after her. Walking briskly away from the cage Zofiya looked around, it was still too early for anyone to be up and about, she would soon change that.

“SHOP!” Zofiya yelled at the top of her voice.

0=0=0=0

Stumbling from the back of the wagon where he had been sleeping with his strong boxes; Akakios stood for a moment naked to the world wondering who in the name of Zeus was making all that noise. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he looked up to see Nicho, one of his Egyptian guards standing by the wagon and looking uncomfortable.

“What the fuck’s going on, eh?” Akakios pulled his tunic on over his head, “Can’t a man get any sleep around here?”

“Sir,” Nicho glanced over his shoulder nervously and gripped the cudgel he carried more tightly, “there’s a crazy old Jew woman saying she wants to buy Red.”

“She does?” Akakios looked around Nicho’s shoulder and sure enough he caught site of a woman pacing up and down the yard, “She does!” smiled the Greek, “Well I’d better go see.”

He started across the yard, took one more look at the woman then went back to the wagon and buckled on his belt and sword; Nicho was right, she did look more than a little crazy. He walked quickly over to the woman, with Nicho trailing behind him, he intercepted the woman in mid-pace. 

“Good morning madam,” he smiled his best salesman’s smile, “what can I do for you this morning…” before adding pointedly, “...this very early morning?” 

“I want to buy that girl in the cage there,” the woman pointed and Akakios glanced over her shoulder, Nicho hadn’t made a mistake she’d pointed at Red’s cage.

“You mean Red?” he asked just to be sure.

“Yes, how much?”

“You sure?”

The woman nodded emphatically and reached for her purse. Akakios glanced at the woman, and then at the cage where Red cowered and then back at the woman, he scratched his chin. The woman was tall, thin with long wild grey hair, she wore a good quality grey dress tied at the waist with an expensive looking tooled leather belt and what looked like a silver buckle made in the shape of a coiled snake. Around her neck and wrists hung charms and other strange trinkets all in gold or silver, she might be crazy but she appeared to be wealthy.

“Of course madam,” he led her towards the cage, “but I feel I have to warn you that her minds quite addled…she might not be what you’re looking for. Now, I’ve sold up my business so I have no more stock but I could direct you to…”

“No, I want that one,” again the crazy woman pointed to where ‘Red’ lay.

Sighing, Akakios shrugged his shoulders, the customer was always right and he had tried to warn her so that nasty, vicious, vengeful god, that the Jews worshipped, even he couldn’t complain that Akakios had tried to take advantage of her. Akakios believed in keeping on the right side of all the gods, after all you never knew…

“How much?”

“To you madam…” Akakios weighed up his chances, “five drachma…and I’m cutting my own throat here!”

“Done!” The woman went for her purse and started to count out the coins.

Taken by surprise at how easy the sale had been Akakios kicked himself thinking he could have got ten if he’d asked, the last coin clinked into his hand and he gestured to Nicho to open the cage and get Red out for her new owner.

“A pleasure doing business with you madam,” Akakios called to the woman’s back as she hurried off to collect her new purchase.

In a way he was sad to see old Red go but he was glad he didn’t have to sell her to a brothel (he'd only have got a few coins for her there; she wouldn’t have increased his fortune by much). He had toyed with the idea of taking her back to Greece, cleaning her up and keeping her as a sort of pet…but it was probably best not to when all was said and done.

“She’s a good obedient girl,” he called as Nicho pulled Red out of the cage, “as biddable as a sheepdog, does what she’s told no trouble at all.”

The crazy Jew woman took hold of Red’s hand and started to lead her out of the slave market. A pin prick of guilt stabbed Akakios’ conscience as he watched Red and the woman leave.

“Excuse me madam!” he called and ran after them for a few steps, “I know it’s none of my business, but what are you going to do with her?”

“You’re right, it is none of your business,” the Jewess had stopped and turned to look at the Greek merchant. “What am I going to do with her? Well first I’m going to give her a bath!”

“Of course!” Akakios smiled, “How silly of me not to think…thank-you madam,” he waved as she walked from the slave market, “have a nice day!”

0=0=0=0

Willow had never felt happier, she’d been sold! At last, and to a woman as well, no more men screwing her whenever they felt like it, no more beatings (at least she hoped not). The walk through the city had given her first real sight of where she was. It was early morning and people were just coming out of their houses to set up stalls on the sides of the narrow streets and generally go about their business. She looked longingly at the food stalls as they passed, she’d not had anything to eat since yesterday and her tummy felt empty and growled at the smell of the food.

“What’s all that noise?” her new owner stopped and turned to look at her.

Willow shrank away from her expecting to be slapped or punched.

“Are you hungry?” asked the woman, Willow nodded her head, “of course you’re hungry here,” the woman gave a small bronze coin to a food vendor and got a thing like a kebab in return. “here eat this…” 

Willow almost snatched the food from the woman’s hand and started to wolf it down, the grease from the meat running down her chin to drip onto the front of the filthy rags she wore.

“Careful,” said the woman, “you don’t want to make yourself ill.”

Willow didn’t care, at this moment in time she would have done anything for this old lady, she was the first person to have shown her any kindness since she’d turned up in this hard evil world of the past. But she would have gladly sold her soul for another of those kebab things.

0=0=0=0

After a long walk through twisting winding streets that were little more than alley’s Willow found herself in a shop of some kind that apparently belonged to her owner. The ceiling was hung with bunches of herbs and strange dried animal parts. There were shelves with rows of pots that had more herbs or roots sticking out of them. Willow recognised where she was almost immediately, she had been bought by the owner of a magic shop. Next she was taken through a curtained doorway at the back of the shop and found herself in a large room that looked like a combination of a workshop and kitchen.

“There’s a room up stairs that I use as a bedchamber,” the woman yawned as she walked over to inspect the contents of a cauldron, “there’s a store room too, we’ll clean it out later, until then you can sleep down here.”

Willow stood in the middle of the floor with her head bowed and said nothing, inside she wanted to shout for joy; she was going to get a room…to herself and maybe a bed. Willow wanted to say something but was too frightened; saying the wrong thing could spoil everything, so she said nothing.

“You’re a quiet one,” said the woman from behind her, “well that’s better than sharing the house with a chatterbox. I’m Zofiya, you better call me Aunt or something when there’s people about, but while we’re alone you call me Zofiya, alright?”

Willow could hear the woman moving about behind her, but she was still too scared to turn and see what she was doing.

“What should I call you?” Zofiya came up behind Willow and cut the old dress from her shoulders, the rags fell about Willow’s feet leaving her naked. “Oh my,” gasped Zofiya, “they did beat you, didn’t they? Well never mind I have some salve that’ll put that right,” she walked around to look into Willow’s eyes, placing her hand under Willow’s chin she lifted up her face so she could study it more closely. 

“You were a pretty girl once, weren’t you…?”

Willow remained silent she was frightened that this was all a dream and if she spoke she’d wake up and find herself back in the slave pen.

“We’ll have to think of a pretty name,” Zofiya got a damp rag and started to wipe the grime from Willow’s face, “How about Shani that’s a pretty name?”

Willow nodded.

“Good, it means red like your hair,” the old woman forced a smile as she cleaned Willow’s face and revealed the fading marks of violence. “My name means ‘wisdom’,” she laughed quietly, “what’s in a name eh?” Zofiya stood away from Willow and looked her up and down, “this is going to take some hard work…but we’ll soon have you looking pretty again…and feed you up, you’re all skin and bones…and…and…”

Zofiya turned away to hide her tears, silly old woman she cursed herself. Here’s this girl as silent as a statue after all she’s been through and you start blubbing like a baby, what kind of example is that? Zofiya sniffed and turned back to look at Willow.

“Let’s start cleaning you up,” Zofiya sighed and led Willow out to a small sunlit yard at the back of the shop where she washed the filth and grime from Willow’s body and spread soothing salves on her many cuts and grazes. The slave dealer was right; the girl was as biddable as a sheepdog.

‘Go there’, ‘stand here’, the girl followed Zofiya’s every instruction, ‘sit down’, ‘stand up’. The old woman started to wonder if she’d ever get the girl’s mind back from wherever it had gone. Maybe it would be more of a kindness to just cut her throat and feed her to the crocodiles? There was still an enormous danger that she could come into her powers and in her present state, The Evil One would be able to walk into her vacant mind and take control.

0=0=0=0

Zofiya had been born in Judea forty-three years previously. When she was fifteen she’d been married to a business partner of her father. It had not been a happy marriage; after ten years of physical and mental abuse, Zofiya managed to escape her husband’s house and make her way to Jerusalem. Here she was taken in by a Sarmatian woman who earned her living as a midwife and ‘wise-woman’. 

In five years Zofiya learnt all the skills and mysteries relating to being a mid-wife and witch. Then her life was once more set to ruin when her husband found her and tried to have her stoned to death for being a witch. Zofiya had escaped across the desert to Egypt where she had set up in business for herself in the capital, Alexandria. She’d been there ever since, she was well respected for the work she did, and she had even been present at the birth of Queen Cleopatra's son Caesarion.

0=0=0=0

“Still not talking?” Zofiya combed the knots out of Willow’s hair, “Well, what’s so important about talking?” She combed in silence for a moment, “I wonder what god or goddess is supposed to look after you? Whoever it is isn’t doing a very good job!”

“I used to be Jewish.” Zofiya confessed, “I stopped worshipping that dirty old Jehovah just after my husband tried to have me stoned…you know you can be killed just for saying his name?” Zofiya paused as she cut out a particularly stubborn knot from Willow’s hair. “There that’s better…now where was I? Yes…I’ve followed The Goddess, Mother of All since then…she was the first from whom all life sprang…all the others are just want-to-be’s, can’t hold a lamp to the Goddess…now let’s look at you.”

Zofiya held Willow at arms length and smiled sadly, “better, much better…the marks will fade as will the memories.” Zofiya glanced out of the door of the kitchen to see that it was nearly dusk; she had stayed up all day! No wonder she felt so tired, “Now I really think we need to get some sleep…Come-on you can sleep with me for now, we’ll sort your own room out tomorrow.”

Tagging along behind Zofiya, Willow allowed herself to be led up stairs into a long narrow room with a bed at one end and a big cupboard at the other. She obediently went and lay down on the bed when she was told. Lying in the semi-darkness of the room, Willow wondered at her good fortune. Only this morning she had been a hopeless slave girl waiting to be sold to a brothel. The next thing she knew she’d been sold to this woman who seemed determined to treat her like a daughter or something. Maybe the woman was a witch after all?

0=0=0=0

Yawning hugely Zofiya sat down heavily on her bed, late nights and magic didn’t mix at her age. Pulling her dress off and placing her jewellery on the table next to her bed she settled herself down next to the girl to get some sleep. The herbs she had put into the girl’s bath water would not only help heal her body but also her mind, or so Zofiya hoped, she would see how things went tomorrow.

Pulling a light blanket up around herself and the girl, Zofiya yawned again and closed her eyes, yes, she thought, it would be nice to have someone around to help…maybe she could cut down on the late nights?

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

3.

**Three Years Later.**

Sitting behind the shop counter Willow read the old parchment carefully, she was finding the archaic Greek hard going but she got to the end of the passage eventually. Putting the scroll down gently on the counter she held out her hand, palm upwards, and whispered some words over it.

“Wow!” she cried in wonder as a small blue flame appeared a fingers width above her palm, “Cool,” she grinned feeling very proud of herself, “or maybe that should be ‘hot’?”

The little brass bell attached to the curtain that covered the entrance ‘tinkled’ as someone came into the shop. Quickly Willow blew out the flame before standing up and greeting her customer.

“Good morning soldier,” Willow smiled welcomingly at the soldier who stood nervously looking around the magic shop.

The man stood clutching his plumed helmet under his arm exposing his reddish blond hair; he wore a leather breastplate over a red tunic with a red cloak falling from his shoulders this all identified him as a Roman and probably one of Mark Anthony’s men. Willow reassessed her customer, this was no ordinary legionary this was an important man, maybe even someone close to Mark Anthony himself. When the officer didn’t say anything Willow tried again.

“Is there something I can help you with, captain?” the man looked as if he was about to flee the shop. Willow tried yet another approach, “These are very good,” she picked up a charm from a bowl on the counter, “guaranteed to protect you from the evil eye.”

“Thank-you,” the soldier replied rather stiffly, “but I need no protection from the evil eye.”

“Well, you must’ve come in for something,” Willow replaced the charm in its bowl and watched the officer closely; he looked as if he was fighting some internal struggle between need and embarrassment.

“Thank-you I’ll come back later,” he turned to leave the shop but stopped in the doorway; Willow heard him whisper to himself, “Don’t be such a damn fool Vorenus.” He turned once more to look at Willow. “At least she’s not one of these damned Gyppos,” he whispered under his breath, before saying aloud, “I have an affliction of a personal nature…I was wondering…could I speak to someone older…your master or mistress perhaps?”

Willow turned her head away to hide her smile, an ‘affliction of a personal nature’ that usually meant only one thing…the pox!

“I’m afraid my Aunt Zofiya is away at the moment, it’s me or no one,” Willow smiled kindly trying to put the soldier at ease, why were men such babies?

“Oh! Umm…I’ll come back…” the Roman looked if he was about to flee again.

“Would this ‘affliction’ be something under the auspices of Cupid?” called Willow and the soldier stopped in mid stride, “What we might call a ‘social affliction’?”

“Well, umm,” Vorenus coughed to cover his embarrassment, “as it happens…yes.”

“Well don’t be silly,” Willow stepped forward and led Vorenus by the arm over to a stool in the corner and out of sight of the door, “I don’t know why you’re so shy about it. You probably caught it off a woman, why not let another woman cure it?”

“Erm yes, well, if you put it like that.” Vorenus sat down straight backed on the stool.

“After all there’s not much I haven’t seen,” Willow got down some pots of herbs from a high shelf, “woman of the world and all,” she turned to look down at Vorenus with what she hoped was a reassuring smile on her lips, “all right then, lets have a look.”

Vorenus lifted up the hem of his tunic, sighed resignedly and looked up at the ceiling as Willow picked up a lighted lamp and crouched down in front of him.

“Wow!” she gasped as she caught sight of the swollen member, “that must hurt! I mean…wow!”

“Don’t mock me,” Vorenus started to push down his tunic, “if you can’t help just say so, I will not be made a figure of fun.”

“No-no, I didn’t mean it like that,” a frown crossed Willow's face as she looked up at Vorenus, “it’s just…gee…I’ve never seen one like that before…does it hurt?” Seeing the look on the Roman’s face she didn’t wait for an answer, “Of course it must hurt, stupid question.”

“Can you cure it?” a hint of pleading and panic entered Vorenus’ voice.

“Hmmm,” Willow tilted her head to one side and looked at the problem from a different angle, “well if I can’t…I’ll give it a damn good try!”

Picking up a stylus from the counter Willow collected some pus from one of the sores on Vorenus’ penis; there was no way she was going to touch ‘that’ with her hands.

“You use prostitutes a lot?” she sniffed the pus, at this point Zofiya would have tasted it too but Willow thought that was just way too gross; she winced at the smell and pulled her head away.

“Couple of times a month,” Vorenus watched with concern at Willow’s reaction, he let his head slump forward between his shoulders, “Fortune pisses on me once more.”

“She sure does,” wiping the pus from the stylus with a rag Willow replaced it on the counter, “bit of a bitch is Lady Fortune…which reminds me does it hurt to pee?”

“Like fire.”

“Uh-huh,” Willow nodded her head sagely as she stood up and started to search through the stacks of pots and jars again, “you really ought to be more careful y’know? Didn’t you check to see if she was clean?” Willow moved a large jar and removed a small desiccated lizard from behind it; she placed it on the counter, Vorenus’ eyes went wide with worry. “It’s quite a simple procedure,” she continued, “I can show you if you don’t know how…” Willow looked at Vorenus’ expression; too much information there, she guessed.

“I had no reason to think…I mean I’ve used that prostitute regularly,” Vorenus shook his head at the injustice of the gods, “she’s always been clean before.”

“Yeah, well the gods are like that…have you annoyed them or her or something?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Vorenus earnestly.

Which translates as ‘probably’ thought Willow thinking that this might be a curse.

“Do you have a wife?”

“No,” Vorenus sighed sadly, a hint of guilt there Willow thought, “why do you ask?”

“Well I was going to say that it’d be best if you didn’t…you know…with your wife until you’re better…in fact I’d lay off the whole sex thing until we’ve cleared this up.”

Willow weighed up the evidence she'd collected, if Vorenus was to be believed he had used a prostitute that he’d hired before and she’d always been clean previously. There had been a whiff of magic in the pus from Vorenus’ penis, this sounded like a curse as well as a naturally occurring disease. Maybe he’d annoyed the whore in some way; maybe he wanted her to do weird stuff and she didn’t want to…who knows?

“Can you help me?” Vorenus sounded resigned to dying a long, slow agonising death; in fact it sounded to Willow as if he wanted to die a long, slow agonising death.

“Yes!” was that disappointment she saw on his face? “But you should have come to see me earlier, now it’ll take longer, be more painful and more expensive to cure.”

“I have money,” a heavy purse thumped onto the counter.

“Right then,” Willow rubbed her hands together, it was after all a business that she and her Aunt were running, not a charity, and the Roman could obviously pay. “Here you go,” Willow handed Vorenus a jar with a cork stopper, “smear that on the affected part every night before you go to bed.”

“What is it?”

Willow took back the jar and looked at the label, “Umm, mainly bull’s penises, cow fat, hemp and half a dozen other herbs and roots…it’s really nifty,” she smiled and nodded her head encouragingly.

Vorenus recovered the jar and watching Willow carefully he pulled the stopper before smelling the contents, “Gods below!” he coughed, “What demon’s brew is this?” He hurriedly replaced the stopper.

“It’s not supposed to smell nice,” Willow belligerently crossed her arms over her chest and gave the soldier a hurt look, “it’s not perfume y’know.”

“Alright, anything else?” he asked morosely. 

“Every evening take a jug,” she looked around for an example, she saw a similar jug and pointed to it, “about this size and fill it with fresh clean water, then empty one of these packets,” she held up a hand full of papyrus packets and put them on the counter in front of Vorenus, “into it and let it steep over night. Then drink the contents over the course of the next day.”

“But that’ll…”

“Yeah I know, sorry,” Willow wasn’t but Vorenus didn’t know that, “it’ll make you pee more…and that’ll hurt, at first…but it’ll clean your insides of the ill-humour so…” she shrugged helplessly.

Vorenus sighed heavily, “Anything else?” he asked once more.

“You might want to make an offering to the Earth Mother. A nice fruit basket is usually acceptable.”

“Will that help?”

“Maybe,” Willow shrugged, “it can’t hurt.”

Willow helped herself to several coins from Vorenus’ purse as he applied the paste to his penis under her direction. Showing him the coins she'd taken he didn’t seem inclined to argue at the cost.

“If it hasn’t cleared up in a week,” she steered Vorenus towards the door, “come back and see me again…in fact come back and see me even if it does clear up.”

Willow watched as Vorenus made his way through the crowded street clutching his packages to his chest. Sighing happily at another patient hopefully cured, she shrugged her shoulders, well he’d be cured or high as a kite by the end of the week, either way she'd done her best.

0=0=0=0

The following morning Vorenus walked into the office of the ex-slave, Posca who now acted as Mark Anthony’s secretary. He sighed with relief, this had been the first morning in several days that he could walk without pain, the witch’s brew that he smeared on his manhood and the concoction he had to drink throughout the day, must be beginning to work.

“Posca,” he sighed as he found the little Greek sitting in his chair with his feet up on his desk smoking hemp from a pipe.

“Lucius Vorenus,” the Greek turned glassy eyes on the Roman, “your monthly debouche is finished already?”

“I see yours isn’t.” Vorenus laid his hand on the Greek’s pipe.

“This?” Posca sighed as he indicated the pipe, “This is nothing, this is for my nerves,” he fiddled with the end of the pipe.

“Where is he?” Vorenus referred to Mark Anthony.

“Where is he?” Posca let out a long sigh, “a deeeep question…his mortal flesh is in the throne room meeting the delegation from the senate.”

The Roman Senate were in a panic to secure grain supplies from Egypt which Mark Anthony had been using as a political tool against his enemies in Rome.

“They’re here already?”

“Senator Bibulus and several other distinguished men, whose names I forget, arrived this morning.”

“And why are you not in there?”

“I value my life, such as it is, when the Queen growls at me, I retreat.”

Vorenus shook his head in disgust and picked up his helmet before turning to head towards the throne room.

“It's not cowardice,” Posca called after the departing soldier, “if I died who'd look after my wife?”

0=0=0=0

The small copse of palms stood on the banks of the Nile several miles downstream from Alexandria, it had taken Zofiya nearly two hours to walk there. When she had finally arrived she pushed her way between the tall grass and lush bushes that grew in the shade of the trees until she came to one particular tree. Moving aside the branches of a small shrub she exposed an ancient statue, older even than the pyramids that guarded the Pharaoh’s earthly remains. This statue was as old as time itself and depicted a large breasted woman with great wide hips sitting cross legged on a stone. Zofiya bowed to the statue before sitting on the grass in front of it. For a moment or two she said nothing, until…

“Well I’m here,” Zofiya spoke as if to a neighbour woman that she didn’t really want to talk to, “I suppose you want to know why I haven’t reversed the spell? Well, why should I?” Her voice took on a more belligerent tone, “You didn’t have to listen to her screams each and every night,” then a little softer she added, “Maybe you did…but it’s different if you’re in the same house you know?”

The memories of trying to comfort Shani when she awoke from her nightmares came back to Zofiya’s mind. The poor girl had teetered on the edge of sanity for months until Zofiya couldn’t stand it any more and looked into the girl’s mind.

“She’s happy now, I’ve never known anyone so full of life and joy…and the people she helps in your name…” the statue remained mute as it watched Zofiya through lifeless stone eyes. “What would it hurt if she never remembered what happened to her, what difference would it make if she went through her life never finding out the truth?” Shaking her head Zofiya looked at the statue as if listening to some philosophical argument.

“Do you want to make her cry again?” For a moment it looked as if the statue’s face softened, or was it just a trick of the light? “No I didn’t think you did…and I know there will be a price to pay and I’m willing to pay it, if I must…but I will never willingly let her remember…I would never hurt her, she’s like my own daughter.”

Zofiya remained silent as she tried to think of some bargain she could make with the goddess so she need never reveal to Shani her terrible past; she'd seen inside the young woman’s mind and had seen terrible things that even Zofiya couldn’t understand. She'd seen the young witch miss-say the spell that had brought her here. What was it? Nearly three and a half years now? 

Zofiya had changed the girl’s memories, instead of a life spent in some terrible, wondrous land fighting horrendous monsters; she substituted a childhood in a far away land with loving parents and friends. Instead of the rape and violence of her first few weeks in this world, Zofiya had planted memories of a frightening ship wreak and kind people who had brought her to Alexandria and Zofiya.

“And what of the child I had to take from her?” Zofiya demanded, “Was that not enough? Wasn’t that a suitable offering of flesh and blood to sate even your appetite for payment?” Zofiya was getting annoyed again. “Did that not keep the balance? A life for a life?” Zofiya wiped at her tears angrily as the statue watched her, cold and unforgiving.

“Does it spoil things so much if just one person is happy in this sad world?” she sobbed, “Or would that upset the balance of the universe?” Again the statue kept its own counsel.

Groaning with the effort Zofiya got to her feet; her old bones creaked and objected to sitting still for too long these days, dusting off her dress she looked at the statue one last time.

“Do what you will,” she spat on the ground in disgust, “but I will never tell her true past. You are cruel and heartless like the rest of the gods…I curse you.” Zofiya paused as she realised what she had said, but after a moment she found new courage to defy her goddess.

“I curse you to obscurity!” she laughed at the statue, “I curse you so that people will forget your name and leave your holy places untended and your holy days uncelebrated…I curse you so that all who worship you will know nothing but pain and fear.” Zofiya wondered at the enormity of what she was done, “I do this because any god who demands the happiness of one mortal girl to pay a debt is not worthy of the name ‘god’…I Zofiya of Alexandria so curse you.”

Rushing forward Zofiya grabbed the head of the statue in both her hands and heaved, the statue toppled to the ground and into the bushes were it remained hidden from sight. Straightening her dress Zofiya pulled back her shoulders and with head held high walked from the copse.

0=0=0=0

It wasn’t until she stepped out onto the path that led to the road leading back to the city that she realised how dark it had become. Wishing to be home she hurried along through the night knowing the city gates would be closed when she got there. However, she knew enough of the guards to know she would be able to get herself back into the city.

As she walked quickly along the sandy track way the sound of stealthy footsteps came to her ears. Turning quickly and casting a ‘Firefly spell’ she saw it standing in the light of the little magical flying things that danced around her. The creature, half woman, half lion stepped towards her slowly regarding her with cold, malevolent eyes.

“So soon?” Gasped Zofiya turning slowly to watch the Sphinx as it moved towards her; she had anticipated this, you couldn’t curse a god and expect to get away with it. “But there’s so much I haven’t taught her…” Zofiya pulled her knife from her belt, “...I will not go quietly into the dark…not even for you goddess.”

0=0=0=0

Willow paced back and forth across the kitchen-workshop, it was late and Zofiya hadn’t returned. Thinking she'd heard something she rushed out to the shop and quickly opened the door…only to find the dark, deserted street. Sighing sadly she glanced up and down the street and then up at the stars. Gauging the time to be about midnight she realised that the city gates would have been closed since dusk.

“She was probably late finishing her business,” Willow told herself, “she’ll be staying at a tavern or guest house outside the city I expect.”

Forcing a smile Willow closed and barred the door before making her way across the dark shop and into the kitchen. Extinguishing all the candles but one she walked over to the stairs that led up to her bedchamber. Pausing for a moment she looked around the room one more time, everything was in order. Yawning she started to climb the squeaky old stairs; tomorrow when Zofiya got back she would pretend to be angry and scold her aunt for staying out all night. Then they would laugh and hug and Willow would tell her how worried she’d been and Zofiya would tell her what a silly girl she was. Everything would go back to how it always was.

Pulling off her dress Willow got into bed and pulled the blankets over her, yes tomorrow everything would be fine and life would go on just as it always did. Smiling she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

4.

**The Following Morning.**

Awaking to the sound of pounding on the front door Willow got up and looked up at the light that came in through the window. 

‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’ 

It sounded as if someone was trying to knock the door off its hinges, surely it wasn’t that late? Willow searched her memory as she stumbled over to her dress and slipped it on over her head, she couldn’t think of any women that might have gone into labour…maybe there’d been an accident?

‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’ 

“Alright already I’m coming!” she called as she headed for the stairs.

Not even bothering to put on her sandals, Willow made her way down stairs; quickly unbarring the front door she opened it wide to let the early morning sun into the shop. Looking out onto the street she saw three of her male neighbours and a rickety old hand cart.

“What’s wrong?” she asked the worried faces that looked up at her from the street.

Koralo, the tinker from four doors down the street, looked nervously at Willow and then indicated the cart.

“What is it?” Willow stepped down into the street and gave the men a puzzled look, why wouldn’t anyone tell her what was wrong?

“Shani…” Koralo looked around at his neighbours, he was the eldest so they had made him spokesman, “I’m so sorry…”

“I should think so!” Willow smiled to show she wasn’t really cross, but she wished they would tell her what was wrong, “what are you sorry about? Getting me out of bed…?”

“Your aunt…” Koralo wished he had brought his wife, women were better at these things she'd know what to do…what to say.

“What about my aunt?” looking at the cart Willow noticed the feet sticking out from under a sheet that had been thrown over something body shaped. “What…” she moved closer to the cart, the feet were wearing her aunt’s sandals, “What? W-why…?” 

There was blood on the sandals and blood soaking through the cloth.

“Where’s Aunt Zofiya, Koralo?” Willow reached out her hand to take hold of the sheet; she started to pull it away from the body on the cart.

“The city guard found her,” the words tumbled out of Koralo’s mouth as he saw the cloth removed to reveal the old woman beneath, “they said she must have been caught by some sort of animal on the road last night.” Any minute now he knew the young woman would start to scream and wail and he’s be unable to say what he needed to say, “One of the guards recognised her and sent for me…I’m street warden you see…I…I…”

Willow gazed down at her aunt’s corpse; she gave a little gasp as her eye travelled across her poor abused body; she saw the many bite wounds, the missing fingers where her rings had been cut off. The marks around her neck where the chains and thongs holding her charms had been ripped from her neck.

“The captain he-he said that she must have been found by thieves and robbed,” he shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was thieves who did it.” He pointed sadly at the body, “Who knows?” 

Her mouth opening and closing silently, Willow stepped back from the corpse, tears started to stream down her face as one hand came up to cover her mouth and the other searched for the support of the wall. Koralo watched as Willow’s face began to crumple and a great scream of anguish escaped her lips. Falling to her knees right there in the street she screamed and pulled the charms from around her neck and cast them into the dust. Reaching up to her neck she ripped her dress and wailed her anguish to the skies.

Koralo nodded his head; you couldn’t buy grief like that. He didn’t care what people said, professional mourners couldn’t hold a lamp to grief like that. He nodded to the two men with him ‘take the body inside’ he told them silently, he walked over and laid a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. He really wished he’d thought to bring his wife…

0=0=0=0

Vorenus rolled out of bed and sat up, he dry scrubbed his face and sighed long and hard, another day…another day watching his general slipping further into drug and sex fuelled debauchery. He could weep when he thought of the changes that had come over Mark Anthony in the few short years they'd been in Egypt. The whole place was a cesspool of vice and filth; it was enough to make a good Roman sick. But he and Mark Anthony had made their choices and now they were having to live with them.

Standing up Vorenus walked over to the piss-pot and relieved himself; he could hardly believe that such a simple act could have caused him so much pain. But the little witch’s evil smelling potions and strange herb mixtures had worked. He examined his penis, there were one or two small scabs and the skin still looked a little red in places. But it had been a full eight days now and there were no more weeping ulcers or festering boils and as he had noted he was now pain free when he relieved himself.

After splashing his face with water he pulled on his uniform and armour, even in the heat of the Egyptian day, Vorenus fiercely adhered to Roman military dress; it was one of his ways of hitting back at Cleopatra and Egypt in general. Picking up his helmet and placing it on his head he made his way out onto the street. Tying the cheek guards under his chin Vorenus pushed his way through the bustling crowd. He smiled to himself; he would go to the palace and unless Mark Anthony had something for him to do he would take the time to see the witch and thank her, hadn’t she said to come back and see her?

0=0=0=0

Sitting in the shop Willow toyed with the odd black crystal she'd found amongst her Aunt’s belongings, she’d never seen anything quite like it before. Putting it down on the counter she sighed sadly. After the men had brought her Aunt home the women of the street had come around to the little shop to do what they could for the old witch’s niece. Together they had washed and bandaged Zofiya’s corpse and laid it out in the kitchen where people came to pay their respects first to the old witch and then to the new. They all believed that now Zofiya was dead her power would pass to Willow and they were eager to show their respect for her.

Very soon it was time to take Zofiya away, by Egyptian tradition she should have been embalmed and buried, but Zofiya would have none of that. Zofiya and Willow had discussed what she had wanted. Willow had her Aunt’s body taken to a lonely stretch of beach where she had a funeral pyre built in the Roman fashion. When the fire was out and the flesh consumed, Willow picked out her aunt’s bones and placed them in an urn and scattered her ashes. The urn she buried at dead of night in a grove of trees.

Now she was alone she would have to pick up the treads of her life and move on, she’d tried to find her aunt’s killers but there had been no witnesses and no trail to follow. The city watch were sorry but they didn’t have the manpower to chase brigands who were probably half way to Libya by now, if it had indeed been bandits and not some wild animal. Willow had tried to find the culprits magically but all her spells and screeing attempts had come to naught; if only she’d had something that belonged to the bandits…something, anything, but now it would be too late. Willow looked up as the bell on the door curtain ‘dinged’.

0=0=0=0

Vorenus walked into the shop and paused to let his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside; coming into the shop was like walking into a different world. Outside it was all heat, crowds and noise. Inside it was cool darkness and quiet, he sighed with relief as he unlaced his helmet and took it off.

“Hello?” he peered around the shop uncertainly.

“Hi,” came the quiet reply from over by the counter.

Movement caught Vorenus’ eye and he turned to see Willow stand up, he took in her dirty torn dress and the ash on her forehead and cheeks, he instantly realised that some one close to the young woman had died. As he stepped closer to her he caught a whiff of body odour. The first time he had met the red-head she had smelt of herbs and flowers now she just smelt of stale sweat.

“Sorry about the smell…” Willow shrugged miserably noticing Vorenus’ reaction, “...I’m in mourning.”

“Who…?”

“My aunt.”

“Oh…” Vorenus found he didn’t know what to say, “I’m sorry to hear that…”

“‘I’m sorry for your loss’,” Willow interrupted and then looked puzzled, “that’s odd, that just popped into my mind.”

“It’s probably something you’ve heard, somewhere,” Vorenus explained, “Grief can affect people in strange ways.”

“No-no its not that,” Willow leaned on the counter, “it’s odd but since my aunt died I’ve been remembering snatches of things…you know like when you can’t quite remember a song?”

Nodding his head Vorenus walked over to the counter and put down his helmet, “I’ve come about…”

“Oh! Of course!” Willow blushed under her dirty cheeks, “You don’t want to hear me babbling on about my weird dreams. How’s your…your…umm…thingy?”

“My ‘thingy’,” Vorenus smiled, “is very well, thank you very much.”

“Come on then,” Willow smiled at the good news, “come ‘round here and sit down. Let’s have a look,” she added eagerly.

With only a little reluctance and the smallest of sighs Vorenus complied with Willow’s request, he sat down and lifted the hem of his tunic while Willow busied herself lighting a lamp, she knelt down in front of him.

“If anyone were to walk in and see us like this,” joked Vorenus, “they’d get completely the wrong idea…and I don’t even know your name.”

Willow looked up and around slightly confused by the soldier’s words, and then the candle lit above her head as she realised what the Roman was talking about.

“You’re right,” she giggled quietly, “if someone saw us like this I’d have to hang a completely different sign above my door,” she finished her examination and stood up. “Everything looks fine,” she announced, “still a little red in parts, I’ll give you some salve for that, and it’ll soon clear up. I’d still lay off the sex for a week or ten days and keep drinking plenty of water…and everyone calls me Shani.”

“Sorry?”

“Shani…my name, it’s Hebrew, it means ‘red’.” Willow touched her hair as if in explanation.

“Oh, I see,” Vorenus nodded his head, “Lucius Vorenus,” he introduced himself, “late of the Thirteenth Legion now on General Mark Anthony’s staff.”

“Nice to meet you Lucius Vorenus,” Willow grinned and held out her hand, Vorenus looked at the offered hand suspiciously. “See!” Willow let her hand drop to her side, “this keeps happening. I know people don’t shake hands like that but it seems so natural to me…y’know?”

“I think I do,” Vorenus stood up, “how did your aunt die?”

Willow explained as Vorenus solemnly nodded his head in understanding.

“And you say the watch have no idea who or what did this?” Vorenus shook his head at the ways of lazy Egyptians, “I could look into it for you.”

“Could you?”

“Yes,” continued Vorenus with a curt nod, “my duties for Mark Anthony aren’t exactly onerous, and I have some influence, it maybe that I can find out who or what did this.” He smiled at the rekindled hope in Willow’s eyes, “If it was bandits then we might be able to get justice for your aunt…have their heads on spikes with luck.”

“Oh goody!” Willow cried murderously. 

Someone or something had killed a dear, sweet, old lady and turned Willow’s life upside down; she wanted to see them pay. But she wanted to see them pay in ways that didn’t involve heads and spikes. She had other ideas; she had found some very interesting scrolls in her aunt’s room and she’d been studying them every chance she had.

“I’ll need to know as much as possible about what your aunt was wearing.” Vorenus leaned on the counter and looked intently into her eyes, “everything that you can remember anything that was uniquely hers. These things have a habit of cropping up and then sometimes you can trace them back to the original thief.”

Inviting Vorenus into the kitchen she sat him down with a cup of herbal tea and told him everything she could remember about what her aunt had been wearing that day. After half an hour or so Vorenus stood up and headed for the door with a promise to do his best.

“Here!” Willow called after him, “here’s that salve I said for you to use,” Vorenus reached for his purse, “on the house.” Willow watched him leave clutching his little pot of salve.

“What a nice man,” she said to herself just as she caught a whiff of her own body odour, “and what a stinky Shani!” Willow sniffed under her arms and grimaced, “Time to bathe,” she told herself and went to lock the door she'd be seeing no more customers today. 

As she boiled water, Willow found her mind wondering back to Lucius Vorenus and what a nice man he seemed to be. A little mysterious, there'd been that hesitation when she’d asked him about whether he had a wife. Okay he was a bit ‘gruff’ but she put that down to being a soldier, but she’d seen him smile when he’d let his guard down for a moment. He had a nice smile.

By now she was standing naked in the kitchen scrubbing at her underarms, her hands slowed as she found herself wondering what he looked like…she glanced around the room as if frightened someone would overhear her thoughts…naked. Giggling she went back to washing the dirt and stale sweat from her body; a big important soldier like Lucius Vorenus wouldn’t be interested in a poor shop keeper like her. But…it would be nice to have someone in her life again someone to love even.

0=0=0=0

As the days wore on Willow slowly began to put her life back together, hard work and study were a good antidote to grief. However, she was plagued by strange snatches of memories and occasional day time visions. Pieces of information would suddenly pop into her head; she now knew that ‘Ee equalled em-cee squared’, but what ‘Ee’ and ‘em-cee’ were or why it needed to be squared was beyond her. Once or twice she found herself answering questions from people who weren’t there, it was all very frustrating. 

Occasionally something would come to her mind that would actually help in her work; like the thing about washing her hands before and after she touched a wound. It seemed to her mind that there were thousands of tiny little demons that could get into wounds and make people sick. The best way of getting rid of them was simply to wash her hands and the wound in water that had been boiled. This proved very effective…and profitable. When her customers didn’t die they would pass on to their friends the where abouts of the little red haired witch who had cured them; or at least not made them any worse.

0=0=0=0

As she sat reading one of her aunt’s scrolls, about two weeks after Vorenus had visited her and offered to help find her aunt’s killers, Willow looked up when she heard a soft foot fall on the step. Thinking it might be Lucius she lifted her head to see a woman in an anonymous grey travelling cloak enter her shop, putting the scroll away carefully Willow waited for the woman to notice her.

“Hello?” called the woman breathlessly as she lowered her hood and started to take off her cloak, she caught sight of Willow, “are you Shani the Wise-woman?”

The young woman was in her late teens or early twenty’s, she had an open, pleasant face, not a great beauty but still worth a second look. Her clothes looked expensive, and her hair was hidden by a big heavy looking wig; lady of the Court, Willow thought immediately, her Greek was heavily accented…a Roman Lady of the Court; one of Mark Anthony’s people maybe?

“Yes I’m Shani, domina,” Willow spoke in Latin and saw the woman’s face split into a wide smile, Willow couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m sorry about all the disguise,” the Roman woman hung her cloak over the snout of a stuffed crocodile that hung from the ceiling, “Lucius Vorenus sent me, I’m Jocasta wife of Posca secretary to Mark Anthony, Lucius said you could be trusted. You see I have a delicate problem.”

“Ah,” Willow nodded her head wisely and waited for the woman to continue; she didn’t, “Umm would it be an affair of the heart maybe? You have a lover and you don’t want your husband to find out? Or is it that you’re with child and don’t want to be?”

“On no,” Jocasta looked hurt, “I love my dear, sweet, little Posca,” she giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Then how can I help you?” Willow couldn’t work out what the woman wanted, if she didn’t have a lover and was happily married, what was the problem? Maybe she would get to the point some day soon.

“You see,” Jocasta wandered across the shop towards Willow her eyes darting from one strange object to another. “I love my little Posca very much, but he’s a good few years older than I and…well,” Jocasta looked down as she wrung her hands together, she waved Willow over so she could whisper, “you see, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak…if you see what I mean?”

“Oh?” Willow repeated the words back to herself, “OH! I see,” she was rewarded with the most dazzling smile she had seen in a long time, “He needs some iron in his stylus, his get up and go got up and left?”

Jocasta nodded sadly.

“Hmmm I see,” Willow put her finger on her chin, deep in thought, as she looked around her shelves, “what you really need is some Viagra.”

“Some what?” Jocasta frowned at the unfamiliar word.

“Oh it’s something that would do the trick…just what you need.” The word had come into Willow’s head from nowhere; she knew that if she had some of this ‘Viagra’ stuff she could make a fortune, unfortunately she had no idea what it was.

“Can I have some? I’ve got loads of money,” Jocasta looked at Willow hopefully as she brandished a bulging purse at the witch.

“Sorry no,” Willow saw the young woman’s face fall, “but I’ve got something that should be almost as good.”

Jocasta smiled eagerly as Willow got down a jar from a high shelf.

“Here,” Willow shook some powder into a small papyrus packet, “put this into a cup of wine about an hour before you want to…you know…and he should stand as proud as any legionary. Now there’s only one night’s worth there,” explained Willow, “it should work but if it doesn’t you won’t have wasted your money.”

“Oh thank-you!” Jocasta threw her arms around Willow’s neck and hugged her, “Here,” she left a silver coin on the counter as she snatched up the packet, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Snatching up her cloak Jocasta almost ran from the shop, Willow smiled after the young woman, it looked like she was going to try it out on her husband as soon as she got home. For a moment Willow felt sad and lonely, would she ever have anyone to love her? A puzzled frown crossed her face; had she ever had a man love her? She supposed she must have but she was damned if she could remember when.

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Days turned into weeks and Willow found herself slipping into a routine of work, study and trying out the new spells she'd learnt from Zofiya’s collection of scrolls. Almost everyday Jocasta would turn up and buy some of ‘Shani’s Super Sex Powder’ and then stay to gossip. It soon became apparent to Willow that the young woman was lonely and just wanted to talk to another woman who spoke Latin; either that or she was trying to kill her husband with sex.

Jocasta was easy to deal with, all Willow had to do was sit her down with a cup of calming herbal tea and let her prattle on, while Willow went about the shop dusting or checking on her supplies. On this particular day Jocasta was complaining about the Queen; one of her favourite topics.

“She does screech so,” Jocasta sipped at her tea and sighed, “she won’t even let you wear your hair in the Roman style she’s quite unreasonable about it…and she frightens my Posca so, I pretend to be a little mad so she leaves me alone…mostly…and as for that spoiled brat Caesarian...obnoxious child, needs a good beating and…”

“What’s Lucius Vorenus like?” Willow interrupted before Jocasta could go off on a tirade about Cleopatra’s eldest son.

“Oh, big, brave, stern Vorenus,” Jocasta laughed, “he’s very gruff and very strict and they say he killed his wife and sold his children into slavery…”

“He did?” Willow gasped and stopped what she was doing; she turned to stare at Jocasta in shock.

“Well that’s what they say but I don’t believe it.”

“Why?” Willow walked over to Jocasta and sat down next to her.

“Why don’t I believe it?” Jocasta gave Willow a puzzled look, “Well, he’s very loyal and he’s always been polite to me and…and…” Jocasta’s voice faded away as her eyes glazed over, Willow finished whispering the spell and smiled.

“That was easy,” she said to herself, “now Jocasta?”

“Hmm?” Jocasta mumbled vaguely.

“I’m just going to peep into your mind and have a little look around…”

“Alright.” Jocasta gazed unseeingly across the room.

“It won’t hurt,” Willow placed her hand on Jocasta’s head and closed her eyes.

It quickly became apparent to Willow that Jocasta was exactly what she appeared to be, a scatter-brained young woman without a spiteful bone in her body. She did actually love her husband and wanted only the best for him; true she didn’t like the Queen but judging from the girl's memories that was only natural. Willow thought that she wouldn’t like the Queen either if they were ever to meet. But what Willow was really interested in was Jocasta’s thoughts on Vorenus. Disappointingly, she didn’t have many; she was just a little frightened of Lucius Vorenus but she didn’t really believe the stories about him. Sighing Willow opened her eyes and removed her hand breaking the connection with the young woman.

“Jocasta?” Willow called softly, Jocasta turned slowly to look at her glassy eyed, “When I snap my fingers you’ll remember only that this was a good visit. You’ll feel happy and contented and you’ll go home and make love to your husband, understand?”

Jocasta nodded, Willow snapped her fingers.

“Oh my!” Jocasta jumped to her feet, “Is that the time? I must be off home,” she smiled warmly at Willow, “it’s so nice to have these little chats Shani…I’ve no one to talk to at the palace…not really…anyway I must be off, got to see my little Posca.”

Leaving a couple of coins on the counter Jocasta put on her cloak and ran from the shop. Smiling Willow picked up the coins and watched the woman leave; for a moment she felt a little guilty about taking the money after rifling through Jocasta’s memories; she clutched the coins in her hand.

“I’ll make an offering of these at one of the temples that looks after the sick.” Willow told herself, and for a while she really meant it too; it wasn’t her fault that she never quite got ‘round to it.

0=0=0=0

Later that evening after Willow had eaten her supper, she sat in the kitchen-workshop letting her fingers play with the strange black crystal she'd found in her aunt’s room. Willow felt strangely drawn to it and it was rarely out of her sight these days; she had the oddest feeling that something bad would happen if she were ever to lose it.

A loud knocking reverberated around the house from the front door, sighing Willow got up and wondered, not for the first time, why things always seemed to happen just as she got relaxed and comfortable. Walking through the house she put her eye to a crack in the door and looked out into the street.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“Lucius Vorenus,” came the whispered reply.

Willow opened the door and let the soldier in; he wasn’t wearing his uniform tonight, just a nondescript grey tunic and cloak. Vorenus quickly walked into the shop and closed the door behind him.

“Quickly,” he turned to Willow, “describe again your aunt’s belt buckle.”

Willow described the buckle; it had been silver and shaped like a coiled snake with an intricate pattern engraved on its back.

“As far as you know was there another like it?” he asked urgently.

“She told me she had it made especially for herself…what’s going on Vorenus?”

“I think I’ve found your aunt’s killers…”

“You have!?!?” Willow had the urge to jump up and down with joy, “Where? When? Can we catch them?”

“Look,” Vorenus took hold of Willow’s arm and led her through to the kitchen, “I was in a tavern by the docks when I saw this man with this snake buckle on his belt.” Vorenus sat down while Willow poured him a cup of wine. “I spoke to him claiming I wanted to buy his buckle or one like it. I asked him where he’d got it from…he told be how he’d taken it from a witch a couple of months ago.”

“He just told you?” asked Willow incredulously. 

“He was drunk and bragging, and it was that sort of tavern,” Vorenus explained.

Willow smiled like a cat that had cornered a particularly plump mouse, “Will you help me Vorenus?”

“You intend to go after them?”

Willow nodded her head.

“To what end?”

“Avenge my aunt of course,” Willow started to move around the kitchen collecting little bunches of herbs and charms and placing them in the bag she usually took with her when she went to help some woman give birth.

“Would it make any difference if I said no?” Vorenus remembered a woman he’d met in Gaul and later in Rome itself; she’d been just as determined about things as the little witch appeared to be. Fidelia Venetrix would hack her enemies into bloody pieces, he wondered idly what the witch intended to do.

Willow shook her head and picked up a long kitchen knife, she tested its edge with her thumb before placing it in her bag with her other things.

“Then I better not say no.” Vorenus smiled resignedly and stood up; Willow saw that he carried his sword under his cloak.

“Thank-you Lucius,” Willow ran over and kissed him lightly on the lips, Vorenus looked shocked, “it’s a custom in my land.” Willow explained, “I’ve just got to go upstairs and do something, I won’t be a moment.

Willow ran up the stairs into her aunt’s old room that she now used as her own. Quickly pulling a wooden box from its place under her bed she emptied the contents out onto the bed. One or two of the scrolls rolled onto the floor but she quickly recovered them and placed them with the others. Opening the scrolls out she arranged them in a seemingly random pile before closing her eyes and placing her hands on the nearest rolls of parchment. As she whispered some words of power the magic from the scrolls drained into her body. As the writing on the scrolls vanished, Willow felt herself fill with the arcane power of their magic. Opening her eyes she smiled as she watched the magic crackle between her fingers, standing up she composed herself before running down stairs to join Vorenus.

“Alright let’s go,” she cried breathlessly as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Vorenus stood up and headed towards the door, as Willow followed her eye fell on her aunts crystal, turning quickly she grabbed it off the table and placed it in the folds of her dress.

“For luck,” she told herself.

0=0=0=0

The tavern was situated off a little square not far from the docks, the sounds of loud conversation and drunken singing came from within as Willow and Vorenus approached through the darkened streets. The windows of the tavern are bright with lamp light as sailors and prostitutes went back and forth along the alleys around their target.

“Show me,” Willow nodded towards the tavern.

“Its not the sort of place for a good woman,” Vorenus explained, reluctant to expose Willow to the sin and vice of the tavern.

“Who says I’m a ‘good’ woman?” Willow replied with a wry smile, “Show me,” she repeated.

Seeing the determination in his companion’s eyes Vorenus shrugged and led her over to one of the unshuttered windows, he pointed to a group of villains in the far corner of the tavern.

“There,” he pointed, “there in the corner, four men in white robes; the big brute with the beard is the one with your aunt’s buckle, the others are his men.”

Willow nodded her understanding as a plan formed in her mind.

“What we’ll do,” Vorenus led her away from the window; “we’ll wait here in the shadows until they leave, the we’ll follow them and I’ll take them in some dark alley.”

Willow looked at Vorenus surprised, “You’d do that for me?”

“Yes,” Vorenus nodded his head, “there’re only four of them they’re won’t be expecting an attack,” he loosened his sword in its scabbard, “after all they’re only barbarian scum.”

“Oh that’s so sweet!” Willow stood on tip toe and kissed Vorenus on the check once more, “you’d do all that for me?”

“Well yes,” Vorenus was a little confused, “it’s…”

“There’s no need,” Willow took a couple of charms out of her bag and put them around her neck, “I have a better idea.”

“But…”

“You wait here,” Willow patted Vorenus on the chest, “I won’t be but a moment.”

Turning towards the tavern Willow walked a couple of paces before turning back and running up to Vorenus and kissing him on the lips again.

“For more luck,” she grinned before walking out into the middle of the square; she took a moment to compose herself before she started to chant her spells.

0=0=0=0

Inside the tavern, the four desert bandits sat drinking in the corner, since Akakios the Greek had left to go home, times had been hard. They’d had to turn more to robbery rather than slave collecting to make their living; and robbery could be dangerous. However, a couple of months ago they’d stumbled on an old woman out late one night, it was like she had been sent by the gods. The little band was particularly down on their luck and were even considering honest work to fill their bellies.

But this woman had just appeared in front of them, she had been lying in the road barely alive after being attacked by some sort of wild animal. They had, of course killed her and taken the charms and rings she’d carried, they’d not been enough to save her life. But they had been enough to keep the bandits in food, drink and whores for almost two months. Now they only had the snake buckle left, and although Kushjo, the leader, had wanted to keep it he was beginning to wish he’d accepted the offer made to him by that Roman dog earlier in the evening.

Looking into his half empty beer mug Kushjo sighed, tomorrow they would need to buy supplies and head out into the desert again. He was just about to take a swig when he noticed the beer in his mug begin to…vibrate? Scratching his none too clean hair he looked up and noticed the spilt wine and beer on the table top vibrate in the same way as the beer in his mug; odd, he thought.

It was only when he noticed cups and mugs start to dance on the table and dust drift down from the rafters that Kushjo realised that there was something badly wrong somewhere. The noise in the tavern fell as people noticed things start to shake and fall off tables and shelves. A large urn fell over and smashed noisily on the ground, it seemed to break the spell that held the crowd in place.

“EARTHQUAKE!” somebody yelled and in an instant the room was filled with the sound of whores screaming and men yelling as everybody fought to get out of the doors and windows.

Just then the main door exploded in a shower of splinters.

0=0=0=0

Floating into the tavern, her hair blowing in some unseen wind, Willow turned her ebony black eyes on the little group of desert tribesmen who cowered around the table in the corner. Good, she thought, she’d got them trapped, they were too far away from the door or any of the windows for them to get away without them passing her. Now for some fun, she smiled as lightning crackled around her head and from her fingers.

0=0=0=0

“Gods below!” gasped Vorenus, he had seen some pretty amazing things in his life but nothing like this.

The scene reminded him of an ant’s nest that had been kicked by a small boy. Men and women tumbled from the windows and doors of the tavern. They ran screaming across the square and into the alley’s shouting that there was an earthquake, all the noise was bringing other people out onto the streets.

All this Vorenus only noticed in passing his attention was on the way Shani had floated across the square and smashed in the tavern door, maybe the town’s people were right, maybe little Shani was a genuine witch after all, maybe she was a goddess. It was said that the gods sometimes took a hand in human affairs, maybe that was what he was seeing now! Bravely Vorenus pulled his sword from under his cloak and walked towards the tavern.

0=0=0=0

Hovering in front of the terrified bandits Willow started to recite her spell.

“Kali, Hera, Kronos, Tonic...” she floated closer to the brigands, “Air like nectar, thick as onyx...” Willow smiled down at the men malevolently. “Cassiel by your second star, hold my victims as in tar.”

The air around the bandits shivered and they suddenly found they couldn’t move, but nothing was stopping them from shrieking in fear. 

“I…owe…you…pain!” Willow held out her hands and blue lightening flashed from her finger ends to connect with the men cowering before her.

The bandits screamed and writhed on the floor as smoke started to rise from their bodies. One of the bandits, his body contorted by muscle spasms, burst into blue flame and screamed all the louder as he tried to beat out the magical fire with his hands as it started to consume his body.

Drawing breath, Willow halted her attack and watched as the burning bandit cried in anguish and pain as his body was consumed by magical fire before finally vanishing in a puff of grey smoke. The remaining brigands lay on the floor amongst the broken furniture and spilt wine, Willow laughed at their piteous cries for mercy.

“Did she beg you for her life?” Willow’s voice echoed strangely around the wrecked tavern, “Did you show her one ounce of pity?” Willow floated closer to the men.

“Spirit of serpents now appear,” chanted Willow coldly, “hissing, writhing, striking near.” 

At her word of command serpents appeared out of the floor and started to strike at the surviving bandits. They screamed anew as they tried to twist away from the spiting, hissing, hell snakes, as each serpent struck home a cloud of smoke rose from its victim, drawing extra loud cries of pain from the frightened men as they each tried to stab at the phantom snakes with their daggers.

0=0=0=0

Kushjo watched in fascinated terror as one of his comrades was singled out by the demon snakes; there was a frenzy of hissing and snapping as the serpents concentrated on their victim. As the man screamed piteously, Kushjo, found himself momentarily free of attacking creatures. Pulling himself to his feet he watched as this demon woman floated, laughing at his comrades torments. He vaguely remembered her from when she wasn’t so powerful. She was the little red haired slave they had found out in the desert and had supplied them with so much fun on those cold desert nights. He wasn’t going to be beaten by some slave whore no matter how powerful she appeared. In desperation he launched himself at Willow hitting her in the midriff and knocking her to the ground.

0=0=0=0

Lying on the ground with the bandit half on top of her Willow gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of her. The man’s attack had taken her completely by surprise and had broken her concentration; she would need a moment or two to collect her thoughts before she could strike back and finish this. Pushing the half dead bandit off her Willow scrambled to her feet.

“What?” she moaned as the magic started to drain from her body, “No, this shouldn’t be happening.”

Willow looked at her hands as if they had suddenly turned traitor on her, no magic crackled or flashed between her fingers.

0=0=0=0

Seeing his chance Kushjo, pulled the knife from the sash at his waist and raised it above his head; he took a faltering step towards the whore-witch. He never noticed the man with the drawn sword come up behind him until it was too late. Suddenly there was a cold burning sensation in his side, puzzled he looked down to see a sword sticking from between his ribs.

0=0=0=0

Vorenus pulled his sword free of the big bandit and plunged it once more into the man’s body. The bandit gasped as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor pulling the sword free from between his ribs. Coughing up blood Kushjo lay on the floor his dying eyes searching out the witch. He saw her lying on the floor curled up in a ball clutching her head and sobbing. His laughter brought up more blood as he started to cough while he slowly bled to death.

“Got you bitch,” he smiled as the sword passed over his throat and the blackness closed in around him.

0=0=0=0

After quickly dispatching the two surviving bandits, Vorenus walked over to where Willow lay and picked her up, he was thinking it was time for them to be else where.

“Come on Shani,” he said to Willow, “on your feet, time to go.”

A mindless cry of pain and anguish came from Willow’s mouth, as she started to suffer from having the magic ripped from her body.

“I think you did what you set out to…what you always intended to do,” giving up trying to get Willow to walk Vorenus picked her up in his arms, “although how you did it I’ll never know.”

Willow moaned and cried out in pain as she buried her head against Vorenus’ shoulder. He carried Willow out of the tavern and down a dark alley in the general direction of his apartment; he looked into her face, 

“I think you could do with a cup of wine or two,” he said with typical Roman understatement, “and remind me never to get on your bad side, eh?”

0=0=0=0


	6. Chapter 6

6.

**Lucius Vorenus' Apartment.**

Willow awoke in a strange room with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like a Numidian’s armpit; hot, black and hairy. Groaning at the light that streamed through the cracks in the window shutters she tried to move; only then did she notice the arm thrown carelessly across her ribs and the hand that rested on her breast.

“Oh no,” she moaned, noticing that the arm was attached to a body, Willow moved the bedclothes until she uncovered some reddish blond hair, “Oh no,” she groaned again, it was all coming back to her now.

0=0=0=0

Lucius Vorenus had carried her back to his apartment and sat her down and started to pour wine into her. Willow didn’t think he was deliberately trying to get her drunk, he just wanted to steady her nerves and drink was the only way he knew how. As the wine had started to take effect she'd started to babble. About the strange spirit people that haunted her waking and sleeping hours and how they were in the room with them right now! How they looked at her accusingly as if she had done something terrible…as if she had no right to avenge her aunt’s death. The soldier had taken her outburst with a strange calm explaining that the gods were capricious, cruel and seemingly enjoyed making people’s lives a misery; Willow got the feeling that Vorenus didn’t fully believe her.

0=0=0=0

Deciding that she really needed to pee and drink some water, Willow slid from the bed and stumbled across the apartment until she found what she was looking for. Sighing with relief she drank a cup of water and looked around the room, her eyes fell on her dress that lay on the floor near the table.

“Oh no!” more memories flooded back into Willow’s slowly rehydrating brain.

She had a vague recollection of demanding that Lucius have sex with her; right there right now; why had she done that? Willow sat down heavily on a stool by the table, had it been some misguided attempt to assuage the guilt she was beginning to feel about doing all these terrible things to the men who had killed her aunt. No, it was probably just all the wine she’d drunk, Willow groaned as she held her head in her hands and wished she was somewhere else.

Shaking her head she winced as her brain bounced off the inside of her skull, that couldn’t be it. Perhaps she just wanted to feel loved and wanted again, she’d felt so alone and unloved since her aunt had died...and she did like Vorenus and like Jocasta she didn’t really believe the stories about what he’d done with his wife and children…not really, not deep down where it counted. Willow sighed, this was all too complicated for her aching head, it probably had just been the wine and maybe just a little lust. Glancing over to where Vorenus still lay in bed, she smiled; he was rather handsome after all and…virile. 

Bending to retrieve her dress from the floor Willow’s eye’s fell on the smashed shards of pottery that littered the floor her eyes drifted up to the table and a new set of memories came back to her.

“Oh no,” moaning quietly Willow buried her face in her hands, they had done it on the table…then against the wall…then on the floor half way to the bed and finally in the bed itself…several times; Willow sighed, “goddess…the man’s a machine, talk about virile!” 

She couldn’t help smiling as movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Vorenus standing naked in the entrance to the bedchamber.

“Shani?” he spoke softly as he gazed at her.

“Huh-hmmm?” mumbled Willow and hid her face in the folds of her dress.

0=0=0=0

**Six weeks later.**

Looking at the cup in front of her Willow sighed, “Fine witch you turned out to be,” she told herself miserably, “can’t even stop yourself from getting pregnant.”

All she had to do was drink the potion she’d made, there’d be some painful stomach cramps and blood then all her troubles would be over; Lucius need never know. But there was a little persistent spirit voice at the back of her mind that was telling her he had a right to know…damn these spirits and their strange morals; she cursed silently.

“Screw that…it’s my body.” lifting the cup to her lips Willow hesitated and ended up slamming it down on the shop counter, some of the potion spilt on to her hand, she wiped it off and went back to staring at the cup.

It wasn’t as if they were married or anything, they’d been lovers for just six weeks, they’d not even talked about getting married, it was just lust nothing else and the baby was a mistake so why did she feel so guilty? Moaning out her indecision Willow got up and tipped the potion into the slop bucket. She didn’t need to take it just yet; she had a week maybe two before using the potion could be dangerous.

She needed to talk to someone; Jocasta wouldn’t know what to do. Alright she was nice enough but she wasn’t the brightest star in the heavens; and how the hell did she stop herself from getting pregnant? A frown crossed Willow’s face; surely after all the sex she had with that husband of hers she should be almost permanently expecting? Maybe she did need to talk to Jocasta after all.

Covering her mouth with her hand Willow laughed out loud, “There, feeling better already.” 

But it didn’t last, she soon found herself descending into a state of near panic with a side order of guilt.

0=0=0=0

Sitting in the silent hall Vorenus contemplated the course his life had taken over the last few weeks, he was seriously beginning to think that Shani had cast some sort of love spell over him. He smiled to himself, only a few weeks ago he’d never have countenanced such an idea; and if you’d told him a few weeks ago that he would take a lover he’d have laughed in your face.

He liked to sit here by himself and contemplate his life and re-examine the many mistakes he had made. If only he had been more understanding, Niobe would never have jumped and killed herself. He would never have cursed his children to Hades and they would never have been kidnapped and sold into slavery. He had done what he could to put things right; he and Pullo had killed the kidnapper of his children. Then they'd found the girls and the boy Lucius and brought them back to Rome. But it was never the same again, his children hated him, maybe that was the real reason he’d followed Mark Anthony to Egypt.

Vorenus smiled as he thought of Pullo and wondered what his old friend was doing. Shaking his head Vorenus felt sure that Pullo would never let his life turn to cack like he’d let his. Just then his thoughts were interrupted by Caesarion as he ran in and threw a ball at his Egyptian tutor. The ball hit the man in the face, he cried out in alarm and fear; the boy sent him away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Picking up another ball Caesarion turned and saw Vorenus sitting on the stairs behind him.

“Vorenus, play with me,” the boy threw the ball to Vorenus who caught it easily and threw it back, underarm. “Throw it…properly,” demanded the boy.

Catching the ball Vorenus threw it back at Caesarion as hard as he could, it struck the boy on the back as he instinctively turned away from the missile. The ball hit with a meaty ‘Thwack!’ but Caesarion didn’t cry out.

“Come on then,” Vorenus got to his feet; if the boy wanted to play they might as well do it properly.

Walking across the room Caesarion retrieved the ball and threw it back to Vorenus who caught it and lobbed it back to the boy; only this time he threw it in such a way as to allow the boy time to catch it. The ball passed between the two for several throws before Caesarion spoke again.

“Tell me more about my father.”

Vorenus ‘gulped’ inwardly, that was a harder question to answer than the boy could ever know.

“I’ve told you all that I know,” answered Vorenus hoping that the boy would lose interest.

“You’ve told me only what every fool knows,” Caesarion was not to be so easily put off. “He was a great soldier; the people loved him, blah, blah, blah.” The boy sighed, “Tell me what he was like…as a man.”

“Well he was…” Vorenus paused; Caesarion thought he knew who his father was; the truth was something completely different.

Caesarion believed that his father was the great Julius Caesar; Vorenus on the other hand was nine tenths sure that the boy’s father was one Legionary Titus Pullo. How had Pullo described Cleopatra, the now Queen of Egypt? Yes, Vorenus smiled to himself, that was it; ‘a good bit of cunny’, there was nothing complicated with Pullo. He’d have to tell the boy something.

“He was a good man,” Vorenus began, “he was a good man to have as a friend, you’d not want him as an enemy.” He smiled and shook his head he didn’t know if he was talking about Caesar or Pullo at this point. 

“He had a nasty temper when he was roused,” this was true of both men, “when the battle was going hard and men were faltering; that’s when you’d want to see your father at your side…bravest man I’ve ever known.”

Vorenus’ voice faltered as the memory of a blood and gore splattered Titus Pullo standing bravely in the arena; dead gladiators littering the sand around him, holding his bloody sword above his head defiantly shouting, ‘Thirteen!’ the number of his old Legion as more gladiators came out to finish him. The ball passed between the soldier and the boy for several moments, the only sound being the ‘slap!’ of the ball as it was caught in their hands.

“More,” Caesarion demanded.

“Fine horseman, bad gambler…though he’d never admit it.” Vorenus chuckled as he remembered that gladiatrix, Fidelia dragging Pullo back to his house after a fight over a game of dice. “He liked the women, he liked to eat, he’d eat the whole table if you let him,” now Vorenus was definitely talking about Pullo.

“Really?” Caesarion frowned, “I’ve always heard he was very abstemious in his diet.”

“Yes well,” Vorenus spluttered a little as he tried to cover his mistake, “there’s other’s that knew him better than I.” 

He threw the ball before the boy could ask another question and then before Caesarion could speak again Posca ran into the hall, Vorenus thought he’d never been so happy to see the little Greek as he was now.

“Where are they?” Posca’s panicky voice broke the quiet calm of the hall

“What’s the matter?” Vorenus had the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

0=0=0=0

Walking through the main gate and into the courtyard outside the palace Willow was surprised to find it full of people. Pulling the brim of her straw sun-hat down so her face was in shadow, she watched all these strangers stand about in the hot sun. Moving around the crowd she studied them closely, they looked Roman to her. Although the slaves that carried several large travelling trunks were Egyptian, the female slaves that attended the two noblewomen at the front of the crowd were Roman, as were the ladies.

“What’s going on here?” Willow asked herself as she worked her way around the Romans, “Jocasta!” Willow smiled as she saw her friend who was talking to the younger of the two noblewomen.

As she watched a short, older man appeared in the doorway to the palace and signalled frantically to Jocasta to come inside. After a moment he ran from the doorway grabbed Jocasta by the arm and more or less dragged her towards the great door. So, thought Willow, that must be the prodigious Posca. Willow raised an eyebrow; he was a good twenty years older than his wife and quite a bit shorter.

“Maybe he’s got hidden depths,” Willow smirked as she continued to watch the Romans wilt in the sun. 

With them in the courtyard and the doors firmly closed there was no way for her to get into the palace to see Vorenus. The sun rose higher and the Romans drooped lower. Willow was alright she was used to the heat, and she kept to the deep shadow in the corner of the courtyard; plus she always carried a flask of water if she thought she might be out in the middle of the day. Just as she was thinking that it might be a good idea to go home and wait for Vorenus to turn up, the door to the palace opened and there he stood.

Her heart raced and her stomach filled with butterflies as she gazed at her lover and she thought how handsome he looked in his uniform, Willow sighed with ill concealed lust, and admonished herself for acting like a silly schoolgirl; but she didn’t take her eyes off the soldier who was now exchanging words with the older of the two Roman women.

For the first time Willow watched the women closely (they were talking to her lover and the father of her child, it wasn’t that she was jealous, but…). They were both obviously rich, the clothes and all the slaves spoke for that, and beautiful each in her own way. The younger was tall and slim, while the older was slightly shorter with a more curvaceous figure; they were mother and daughter that much was plain to see from the way they shared mannerisms.

Vorenus and the two women exchanged words for several minutes; Willow could tell that Vorenus was giving them bad news simply by watching their faces. At a signal several Ethiopian Guards marched from the palace door and formed up behind Vorenus. Willow could feel the tension in the air like a living thing. The older woman made a dash for the door trying to get around Vorenus who deftly intercepted her.

“ANTHONY!” she cried as she struggled with Vorenus, “COME DOWN! Come down you bastard!” she sobbed.

After a short struggle Vorenus pushed the woman away and she appeared to regain some of her dignity, while Vorenus stood and looked embarrassed. Willow moved from the cover of her shadow in an effort to get closer and hear what was being said.

Suddenly the elder of the two women slapped Vorenus across the face and started to push against him she beat her fists frantically against his breastplate; Vorenus just stood silently and absorbed her ineffectual attack. Willow was not so forgiving, magic crackled from her fingers; no one attacked her lover and got away with it. But then she saw the noblewoman’s face and her heart began to melt as the tears started to roll down the Roman woman’s cheeks.

Her struggles became weaker and weaker until she collapsed onto the ground, her daughter and her personal slave rushed to comfort her. Vorenus didn’t know were to look his face was set in a stoic expression that told Willow that he knew what he was doing was wrong. Next it was the daughter's turn, she walked up to Vorenus and looked him in the eye as her mother was led away sobbing by her attendants.

“You tell my husband,” the young woman almost spat the words into Vorenus’ face, “that he’s cowardly scum!” turning she started to walk away, “Tell him that,” she added before following her mother out of the main gate, leaving Vorenus to stand uncomfortably in the rapidly emptying courtyard.

“Lucius,” called Willow as she ran over to her lover, “who were those women? An-and why did she hit you?” putting her arms around Vorenus she rested her head against the smooth leather of his breastplate.

“Shani!” he stroked Willow’s hair, “where did you spring from?”

“I had to see you…who were they and why did that woman slap you?”

“That was Atia and her daughter Octavia,” Vorenus placed his arm around Willow’s waist as he watched the gates closing behind Atia’s party.

“What did they want?” Willow followed Vorenus’ gaze as the gate finally closed.

“Atia was Mark Anthony’s lover, and Octavia is his wife.”

“What!?!?” Willow couldn’t quite believe her ears.

Giving a low chuckle Vorenus looked down at Willow before leading her into the darkness of the palace.

“I think,” he sighed sadly, “that not only have I broken a woman’s heart today, but I’ve just declared war on Rome.”

“War!?!?” Willow came to a sudden halt and stared at Vorenus as if he’d grown another head.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Vorenus shrugged under his armour, “it’s all that woman’s fault.”

“Queen Cleopatra you mean?” Willow ran a few steps to catch up with Vorenus who nodded as he put his arm around her again.

“So what did you need to see me about that couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“War,” breathed Willow quietly as she let the thought settle in her mind, “oh yeah,” she added as an after thought, “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh,” replied Vorenus quietly then, “OH!” He turned and looked at Willow holding her by the shoulders at arms length, “You're sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure,” Willow grinned nervously she couldn’t work out whether he was pleased or not, “midwife here, I’d know if anyone would.”

“It’s mine?”

Now Willow was getting angry, “Who’s else would it be?”

“Sorry,” Vorenus held up his hands as if to ward off the expected blow, “foolish thing to say, I apologise.”

“Of course if you don’t want me to keep it,” Willow crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away from Vorenus as she pretended to study the wall, “I can get rid of it…if it’s too much bother!” 

The words turned hard in her mouth as she looked once more at her soon to be ex-lover.

“NO!” Vorenus almost shouted, then more quietly, “No…I’m sorry…it’s just come as a shock that’s all and after that business outside…please forgive me?”

Vorenus felt all the mistakes of his past had come back to haunt him, if he wasn’t careful it would be Niobe all over again. Although he felt that this woman would never commit suicide…it was more likely to be him who was found dead and bleeding in the street. No, he liked…maybe even loved…this strange young woman who was carrying his child. Maybe the gods were giving him a second chance at happiness. Maybe this time he could do it right?

“Shani, please…I-I didn’t mean anything bad I-I was just caught unawares…”

“Fine soldier you are…getting caught unawares.” Willow softened slightly, “Alright you’re forgiven…for now.” she added warningly.

“Look,” explained Vorenus, “I have things to do,” he congratulated himself for not saying ‘important’ because that would imply that Shani wasn’t important. “I’ll get away from here as soon as I can and come to your shop this evening as usual…alright?”

“I supposes so.” Willow sniffed disdainfully as she looked at Lucius, “don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” Vorenus tried to kiss Willow on the check but she turned her head away, “Tonight then.”

“Tonight.”

0=0=0=0

Jocasta stuffed documents into a carrying case as her husband passed them to her from off the shelves that lined the walls of his office.

“You realise, of course that we will have to leave all our money behind…we’ll be penniless?” Posca passed his wife another scroll, if they didn’t have money maybe information and the documents to go with it would do?

“I don’t care!” cried Jocasta close to tears, “I’m scared. I want to go home,” Posca reached for some more scrolls, “please hurry!”

A cough from the doorway distracted her for a moment, and Jocasta turned in panic to see Lucius Vorenus walk into the office; she closed the carrying case with a snap.

“Going somewhere?” Vorenus asked suspiciously.

“No!” Jocasta gasped guiltily.

“No,” Posca turned to confront the soldier, “what makes you think that?”

Vorenus snatched the case from Jocasta’s hands and looked inside; his lips went thin as he looked at the couple.

“Please Vorenus,” begged Jocasta, “don’t tell…please don’t tell. Have mercy on us,” she looked pleadingly into Vorenus’ emotionless face. “They’ll kill us,” the young woman sniffed back her tears, “they’ll throw us to the crocodiles.”

“My wife is overwrought,” explained Posca, “we were merely going to take a stroll along the harbour to look at the ships.”

“Then you must hurry,” explained Vorenus as he closed the document case and handed it to Posca, “the wind is changing…the ships look best when their sails are set.”

“Come with us,” whispered the little Greek, “war is sure to come now; this is no place for decent Romans…”

“True,” agreed Vorenus, “but I have responsibilities here.”

“Well, bring your ‘responsibilities’ with you; now is the time.” Posca pointed out earnestly, as Vorenus nodded his head resignedly.

“If you happen to see Titus Pullo,” Vorenus looked down sadly at the little man, “ask him to kiss my children for me.”

“I will do that.”

Jocasta rushed over to Vorenus and clutched his arm, “Thank-you,” she sighed and slipped a note into his hand, “for Shani,” she said quietly, “she’s been my one true friend here in this dreadful place.”

Vorenus nodded and turned away.

0=0=0=0


	7. Chapter 7

7: 

**Outside the Senate House, Rome.**

Looking up at the podium where the newsreader stood, Fidelia Arsenius smiled; this was real entertainment. Perhaps, if NBC had been more like this, she might have paid more attention to the news in her own time. The newsreader had just started his condemnation of Mark Anthony’s recent actions, and the crowd was beginning to warm to the subject.

“…having rejected his loving wife Octavia,” the newsreader’s voice was loud and clear so as to reach those listening at the back of the crowd, “Mark Anthony has coupled himself to the sorceress Cleopatra; promising her dominion of all Rome!” 

There were gasps of outrage and anger from the crowd, Faith while appreciating the seriousness of the situation couldn’t help giggling at the newsreader’s exaggerated gestures.

“…he worships dogs and reptiles,” the crowd began to boo and hiss at this news, “he blackens his eyes with soot like a prostitute.” 

There were more gasps, this time of disgust and the booing increased in volume; this was great fun, thought Faith, much better than yelling at the TV set.

“He dances and plays the cymbals,” for a moment Faith wondered what was so bad about dancing and playing the cymbals, “in vile Nilotic rites.”

Sensing her husband walk up behind her she turned and smiled at him in greeting.

“What are you so happy about my dove?” Marius Arsenius actually thought that ‘my lioness’ would be a better description for his wife, but this was for public consumption. He smiled and let her kiss him on the cheek in greeting (another strange barbarian custom) but that was why he loved her so much. She excited him more with each passing day that they were together; she had become even more beautiful as the years had past.

“What are Nilotic rites?” Faith linked her arm through his as they turned to walk away; the newsreader had now got on to more mundane items.

Scratching the back of his head in thought Marius considered his wife’s question, “Umm, something to do with Egypt?” he guessed, “Nile-Nilotic maybe?”

Shrugging their shoulders Faith and Marius walked on in silence for a moment.

“What is going through that shrewd mind of yours my love?” Marius eyed his wife expectantly.

“Unless I miss my guess,” Faith ran her finger along her husband’s arm, “this means war.”

“It means, my love,” placing his hand over hers he gave it a gentle squeeze, “a business opportunity.” Marius’ eyes momentarily glazed over as he mentally counted the money he would make.

“Money, money, money!” teased Faith, “some times I think that’s all ya care about.”

“Never, my sweet,” replied Marius trying to sound hurt, “I’m just thinking of our children’s future…and you’re likely to make a pretty penny or two yourself.”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Faith as she nodded her head slowly, “people always want weapons, and war just increases the demand.”

When Faith had married she'd set up her own weapons workshop, not liking the idea of living on the proceeds of her husbands slave trading business. Over the years her workshop had grown into a factory that now supplied the army with weapons and armour.

“Oh well,” she sighed, “we better go and pick up the children.”

“Do we have to leave them with that man Pullo?” sighed Marius, “He’s really nothing but a glorified bandit.”

“It’s better than having them run around the slave market,” replied Faith hotly, “and Pullo has the ear of First Citizen Octavian…which isn’t bad for a ‘glorified bandit’.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Marius sniffed; it was pointless arguing with his wife about their children’s welfare.

“I’m always right,” agreed Faith resting her head against Marius’ shoulder for a moment, “and maybe if the kids are tired from playing with Vorenus’ kids, we can always have an early night.”

She smiled at her husband as they walked away from the forum, yes tonight there would be much sex; Fidelia had this odd, overwhelming urge to get pregnant again.

0=0=0=0

**The Senate House, Rome.**

Sitting on his chair facing the floor of the senate, Octavian turned slightly as Posca ushered Titus Pullo into the chamber of the senate house.

“Pullo, my old friend, its good to see you,” Octavian’s smile couldn’t be called warm at the best of times; today it was barely above freezing.

“Sir.” Pullo nodded respectfully to the first citizen of Rome and wondered why he’d been summoned.

“Come, sit down.” Octavian gestured to a bench in front of the senatorial seats; Pullo crossed the floor and seated himself on the hard marble.

Octavian stood and stepped down from the dais where his chair was situated and walked to the centre of the floor before turning to look down at Pullo.

“Posca tells me our friend Vorenus stands by Mark Anthony still.” Octavian turned to indicate the little Greek scribe before turning back to watch Pullo’s reaction.

“Loyal man Vorenus,” replied Pullo non-committally. 

“He sends you his best regards,” Posca called from behind Octavian, “and asks that you kiss his children for him.”

“He’s alright is he?” Pullo visibly brightened at the mention of his old friend’s name.

“You know him,” Posca laughed and shook his head, “iron as ever. Even now that he has a new lover.”

Pullo looked at Posca in surprise and wished he could talk to the man alone.

“You and he are still friends then?” asked Octavian before Pullo could ask Posca for more news of his friend.

“Yes,” Pullo kept his answers short and to the point, it was something he had learnt in the army; when talking to a superior keep your answers to ‘Yes Sir’ and ‘No Sir’ and you couldn’t go far wrong.

“Very soon,” Octavian started to pace across the chamber, “I will have to go east and end this thing with Mark Anthony; I want you to come with me.”

“Why?” Pullo was genuinely surprised, what could the first citizen want with him?

“You are close to Vorenus,” explained Octavian, “and he is close to Anthony. It may be you can act as a mediator…maybe we can save unnecessary bloodshed.” 

“Not to argue with you,” Pullo shook his head sadly, “but it doesn’t seem likely.”

“There are some who’ll have to die of course.” Octavian sounded quite cold-blooded about the way he saw the future, “Anthony cannot be saved. The boy Caesarion will have to go obviously.”

“Caesarion?” Worry creased Pullo’s brow at the sound of his son’s name.

“They have named him putative king of Rome, Pullo.” Octavian sounded almost sad about the fate of the young boy, “He will have to die but perhaps Cleopatra and her children by Anthony may be saved, preserve some stability.”

“Yes,” Pullo looked thoughtful, maybe there was a way to save the boy’s life…if only he could talk to Vorenus, “I see.” 

“I don’t want to order you to come, Pullo, but I will if I have to,” Octavian stopped pacing and looked directly at Pullo.

“No. No problem,” Pullo smiled warmly at Octavian, maybe there was a chance that this could all work out for the best, “I’ll come.”

“Good,” as he walked over and seated himself next to Pullo, Octavian, for a moment, looked like the teenager Pullo had taught to fight and fuck, but only for a moment. “It will be like old times…be an adventure together.”

0=0=0=0

**Alexandria, Egypt.**

Sitting in a chair Willow gazed trance-like into the fire and fancied she could see her Aunt Zofiya staring back at her. It was now three months since Lucius had sailed off with Mark Anthony and Cleopatra and there had been little news coming out of Greece where Anthony’s army was camped. Willow was feeling a little lonely; she had got into the habit of spending her evenings with Lucius (when he wasn’t on duty) and now her evenings felt empty without him. Not that he used to say a lot, his silences made her nervous and being nervous made her babble and… Maybe that was why he didn’t love her. 

In the couple of months they had been involved she had learnt a great deal about what made Lucius Vorenus tick. There were still a lot of things that he wouldn’t talk about; like what had happened to his wife, and why he had left his children in Rome under the protection of his friend Titus Pullo. Shifting in her seat Willow placed her hand over her stomach and felt the baby move, she smiled to herself. Lucius had seemed pleased after he’d got over the shock of being a father again. He was kind and gentle and he did appear to have a great affection for her…but he didn’t love her. Not like the young man she sometimes half remembered in her dreams; he had loved her she felt sure. But something had happened and he had left her; now she couldn’t remember his name or even his face. Had he left her because of something she’d done? Had she driven him away…was she driving Lucius away…was it all her fault?

“Darn hormones,” sniffed Willow as she wiped away a tear.

Sighing she stood up and walked over to where a small cauldron steamed gently over an oil lamp. She poured a mug of herbal tea from the cauldron and went to sit down again. The tea would calm her racing thoughts and help her sleep. Making herself comfortable again she sipped at her tea. Slowly her eyelids began to get heavy and her head started to nod; she really must get up to her bed, but she never made it.

0=0=0=0

Waking with a start, Willow dropped the earthenware mug and heard it smash on the floor.

“Oh bother,” she muttered looking down to where the shards of pottery lay on the ground.

Gasping in surprise, instead of the swept stone floor she expected to see she saw tarmac. Looking around herself in shock, she found her chair had turned into a park bench. Instead of the soft glow of the fire and her lamps she saw the harsh glare of an electric street lamp. Turning around in wonder she recognised where she was; even after so much time and at night she’d recognise Sunnydale’s main cemetery.

“Oh my goddess,” whispered Willow, perhaps the last three or four years had been a dream and…

Her hand slipped down to rest on her swollen belly, once again she felt her unborn child kick. Sighing with relief she noted that she was still wearing her work dress and all her charms and bangles. At one and the same time this was comforting and confusing; was this a permanent change or was she just visiting?

“Whatever,” Willow sighed, “gotta find Buffy tell her I’m back…or at least visiting.”

Looking around quickly Willow got her bearing and started to walk off in the direction of Buffy’s house. Having not gone more than fifty paces a vampire leaped out at her from behind a tombstone; absently Willow gestured towards the vamp.

“Ignite,” Willow said not paying the bloodsucker very much attention, she was too busy thinking about what to say to Buffy.

The vampire screamed for a second before the flames engulfed him and he turned to dust. Willow hardly gave the vampire’s demise a second look. This was how she dealt with the few vampires she’d found in Alexandria; it was second nature to her now. Hardly pausing Willow hurried on towards Buffy’s house.

“Hey!” the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks, “Magic lady.”

Willow turned to see Buffy standing a few feet behind her.

“BUFFY!” Willow threw herself at her old friend only to find herself sitting on the hard ground.

Buffy stood over her in a fighting stance a frown on her face; her eyes finally fell on Willow’s tummy.

“Oh my god!” she gasped and moved to help Willow to her feet, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to…I mean I never noticed that…that…Willow?”

“Buffy?” Willow gave her friend a crooked smile as she was helped to her feet.

“Oh god, Willow,” there were tears starting to form in Buffy’s eye’s as she helped Willow up, “we-we all thought you were dead…w-we searched and searched…Xander still looks for you even after all this time…”

“Oh Buffy,” Willow hugged her friend as close as she could, “I missed you so much.”

The two old friends stood and faced each other, tears of happiness running down their faces as the grinned at each other.

“What happened?” they asked in unison.

0=0=0=0

“Well that’s all my news,” Buffy smiled, “what have you been up to?” Buffy eyed Willow’s middle and smirked, “I guess I don’t have to guess about some of it.”

Willow gave Buffy the edited highlights of the last four years as she remembered it. As they sat in the coffee shop on Sunnydale’s main street passers-by kept giving Willow strange looks, but in accordance with the ‘Sunnydale Effect’ walked on and ignored her.

“So, you managed without me?” Willow didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset, no one likes to know they’re dispensable.

“Yeah,” sighed Buffy, “Tara and Xander’s girlfriend were a great help…and the army guys of course.”

“Yeah,” Willow nodded her head, “who’d have thought the army’d got itself involved.”

“Yeah, well,” Buffy smiled broadly, “its made my life easier…so why’re you back, Will? Don’t get me wrong I’m pleased to see you and the guys will be over the moon when we all meet up, but…”

“Don’t know,” Willow sipped at her tea, after all this time and being pregnant she didn’t want to try coffee. “Like I say,” Willow shrugged, “I was sitting at home minding my own business and thinking about Lucius…did I tell you he’s Mark Anthony’s aide?”

“Only about a thousand times,” Buffy smiled; it was weird to think of her friend having actually met all these people from history.

“I felt sleepy and woke up here…Buffy?” Willow waved her hand in front of Buffy’s face and got no reaction.

With a feeling of panic raising in her chest, Willow turned to look at the other customers in the coffee house. They too appeared to have been frozen in time, looking out into the street Willow saw people frozen in mid step and cars halted in the road, she couldn’t help but feel that this was very unusual even for Sunnydale.

“Rosenberg!”

Willow turned at the sound of the voice that had haunted her through the last few years of her high school career.

“Principal Snyder!” she gasped but couldn’t help adding, “But you’re dead!”

Snyder ignored her comment and looked her up and down disdainfully.

“I had hoped you’d make something of yourself,” he shook his head, “but what could I expect if you kept mixing with trouble makers like Summers?”

“L-look,” Willow felt about sixteen again, “y-you can’t talk to me like that; I’m-I’m a powerful and important woman and I’m going to marry an important man who has the ear of Mark Anthony and-and…”

“Typical,” Snyder climbed up on a spare stool between Willow and Buffy, “that’s not important now…I’ve been sent as a messenger.”

“A messenger?” Willow looked at the dead principal suspiciously, “A messenger from who…or maybe ‘from whom’?”

“Well, not so much a messenger,” Snyder neatly side stepped Willow’s question by ignoring it, “I’ve come to give you a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Look, Rosenberg,” Snyder said testily, “if you’re going to repeat everything I say we’ll be here all night.”

“Sorry,” Willow felt an urge to sit up straight and pay attention, “a choice, what sort of choice?”

“Simple really,” Snyder smiled, “You can go back to your life in the past or stay here with your friends.”

“Why? What? Who?” the words tumbled out of Willow’s mouth, “Can I think about this?”

“No,” snapped Snyder, “you have to make the decision now…go with what your heart says.”

“But…now?” Willow’s eyebrows came together in a frown there was so much to consider.

Was she needed more in the past or in the here and now? Her friends here seemed to be doing fine without her, but was she really doing much good in Alexandria? Did she really want to marry Lucius? He didn’t really love her, she could tell but…but… Willow squirmed with indecision as Snyder sneered at her.

“Time is running out,” he told her nastily, he appeared to be enjoying her confusion.

“Right,” Willow took a deep breath, “Okay I’ll…” A thought hit her just then, she really needed to check on something. “If I come back here,” she tapped the tabletop, “will I still be pregnant?”

Snyder shrugged his shoulders as if to say, what do I care?

“Oh!” Willow looked down at her stomach as her hand moved to rest protectively over her child, could she risk it? Could she risk the life of her unborn child? Sadly she made her decision.

0=0=0=0

“You lied,” said the old woman who stood next to The First.

“No I didn’t,” The First smiled in self congratulation, he had won; without the witch this reality would fall like a ripe plumb into his hand. The reality that Fidelia/Faith and now Shani/Willow inhabited were irrevocably lost to him. When the time came he would lose, but this reality… “If you replay what I said,” explained The First, “You’ll see I never once lied. I just didn’t answer her questions and she made her own decisions.”

The First laughed evilly and slowly vanished leaving the Guardian standing in the frozen coffee house.

“Bastard,” she muttered crossly, well if The First could play his games she could play hers. 

Opening her palm she looked at the black crystal that lay there. The old witch, Zofiya, had placed all Willow’s bad memories within its black heart. If it was ever destroyed the weight and horror of those memories would destroy the young witch so it needed to be protected and what better protector was there than a slayer? The First might be confident that he had won this game, but…there was always another throw of the dice and no one knew for sure how the dice would fall. The Guardian placed her hand gently on Buffy’s head and whispered in her ear as she slipped the crystal into Buffy’s palm.

“Protect.”

0=0=0=0

“Willow?” Buffy looked up to see her friend had vanished.

Looking around the coffee shop, she saw there was no sign of Willow anywhere.

“Darn,” she smiled sadly, “just a flying visit, huh?”

Feeling something in her hand she opened it to see a curious black crystal.

“What the…” the feeling suddenly came over her that the crystal was very important and she should put it somewhere safe…right now.

Getting up from her seat Buffy walked towards the exit, it had been good to see Willow again. Obviously whoever was in charge of the universe had let Willow come back to let her friends know that she was okay. Buffy just wished they’d had more time together.

“Oh well,” sighed Buffy as she stepped out onto the street, “Alea iacta est.” she paused in mid stride, “Where the heck did that come from?”

Shrugging her shoulders Buffy turned to head home, maybe she’d ask Wesley next time she saw him.

0=0=0=0


	8. Chapter 8

8.

**Outside the Senate House, Rome.**

Fidelia Arsenius brushed away the hands of her maids as they fussed around her.

“I’m pregnant, not dying!” she snapped.

The young women attending her stepped away out of arms reach. Although their mistress was generally a good and generous woman; sometimes and especially when she was pregnant she would lash out if she thought people were fussing over her. Afterwards she’d always be sorry and would often nursed the injured party back to health herself; however, a broken arm or cracked rib was still painful.

“Now, all of you,” Fidelia’s voice was back to its normal calm level, “stop treating me like an invalid. I want to listen to the newsreader…anybody would think I’d never been pregnant before.”

Moments later the newsreader waddled out in front of the crowd, he was accompanied by two slaves who helped him onto his ‘soap-box’. The crowd waited expectantly for the newsreader to begin, he glanced at the wax covered board in his hand and took a deep breath.

“Glorious news!” the newsreader’s booming voice easily reached to where Fidelia stood surrounded by her maids. “At Actium, in Greece, the navy of our Imperator Octavian Caesar under the command of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa…”

Fidelia giggled girlishly at the newsreader’s over the top gestures, catching herself she pretended to cough and tried to act as an important lady should.

“…has won a decisive victory over Queen Cleopatra and her slave Mark Anthony. The Egyptian fleet has been destroyed!”

The crowd burst into cheers at the newsreaders words as he mimed sinking the Egyptian fleet.

“Even now,” continued the newsreader over the continuing cheers of the crowd, “Octavian Caesar advances on Alexandria where the witch and her creature take refuge.”

With a self satisfied look, almost as if he’d destroyed Mark Anthony’s forces himself, the newsreader stepped down from his box. With the help of his slaves he waddled back towards the senate house.

Standing for a moment, Fidelia considered the news; things appeared to be going well, with a little luck the campaign would be over within the year. She would have to make plans for her factories and workshops to go back to civilian production. No doubt Marius would be counting the money to be made from all the slaves his agents would be buying and selling when the prisoners started to arrive in Italy. She didn’t like it but she had to accept it; without slaves the economy would collapse and at least her husband treated his ‘property’ better than most.

Signalling to her maids, Fidelia moved off through the square, she smiled to herself; Octavian had come a long way since he was the weird teenager she’d met (and screwed) years ago. Her smile slipped a little when she thought of her friends Lucius and Titus being on opposite sides in the present struggle.

“Come,” she ordered her maids, “I’m want to go to the Temple of Jupiter before I go home.”

Leading the way Fidelia swept from the square; she'd make an offering for the safety of all her friends. It couldn’t hurt and who knows, it might help.

0=0=0=0

**Alexandria.**

Standing on the battlements of the royal palace, Willow looked out over the Roman army that was camped outside. This was certainly the strangest siege she’d ever seen, not that she’d actually seen any; but she’d read books and watched movies. Once again reality and the History Channel didn’t really marry up. Since her little trip back to Sunnydale her memories had been made a little clearer, there were still gaping holes; there was a lot of stuff that she couldn’t make much sense of but at least now she had a good idea of what was supposed to happen next.

When Lucius had returned with Mark Anthony and the Queen, he’d come to Willow’s magic shop and told her to pack. He was taking her into the palace, he claimed she would be safer there. Willow wasn’t so sure of that, the Romans appeared to be on their best behaviour, they hadn’t burnt the town nor had they killed anyone or dragged people away in chains. Once again she sighed, it was all very odd; where were the desperate battles on the walls? Shouldn’t they be eating rats and drinking stale urine by now? 

Watching as a couple of Roman soldiers made a half hearted attempt at chasing off some local kids who where playing between the Roman camp and the palace walls, Willow felt a little let down. There was no shortage of food and drink in the palace, in fact life within the walls appeared to be going on very much as it always did. Right now, for instance, there was an orgy going on in the throne room. Willow glanced up at the sun and tutted in disgust and it was only mid afternoon!

She’d sneaked out not long after the party had begun, even if she hadn’t been pregnant, orgies weren’t really her thing. Lucius would still be near his general, but she’d found that she could rely on him not to get involved. Even when he was drunk he was very reserved. He was one of those maudlin drunks, he didn’t shout or try to force himself on her, He’d just sit there reciting a litany of all the mistakes he’d made in his life; it was quite tedious really. Willow shook her head at her choices in men.

Movement in the narrow gap between the palace and the Roman camp drew her attention away from the rotten choices she’d made in her love life and back to the present. A Roman officer, she recognised him by his uniform, walked from the camp to the wall, he made a signal to the men on the battlements and a chair on a winch was lowered down to him. Seating himself in the chair he tied himself in securely with the piece of rope provided for that purpose and he was slowly winched up onto the fighting platform.

This could only mean one thing; Mark Anthony had offered Octavian ‘terms’ to end the fighting. Willow laughed humourlessly, what fighting? Obviously the officer was bringing Octavian’s answer. Unobtrusively as she could, Willow moved a few paces closer to the sweating men working the winch.

“I have come with Octavian Caesar’s reply to General Mark Anthony,” announced the Roman officer once he’d climbed out of the chair and stood firmly on the battlements.

The Egyptian soldiers stood around and looked blankly at the Roman, he was speaking Latin, a language none of them understood. Willow sighed and advanced on the little tableau.

“Salve, Captain,” Willow smiled at the officer, “I’m Shani the Wise Woman, these,” she gestured to the soldiers, “don’t speak your tongue, can I help?”

“I have come…” began the officer full of his own importance, then realising the foolishness of the situation he smiled back at the red haired pregnant woman. “I have Octavian’s answer for Mark Anthony, can you take me to him?”

“Yeah,” Willow sighed wearily; she turned and led the way to the stairs that went down to the court yard below, “although I don’t know how much sense you’ll get out of him.”

“Why’s that?” the officer held Willow by the arm and helped her down the stairs.

Smiling her thanks Willow walked with the officer towards the throne room.

“Another orgy I’m afraid,” they entered the cool dark of the palace proper.

“You don’t approve?” asked the man conversationally.

Willow looked down at her swelling belly.

“Oh!” the officer nodded his head in understanding.

“Not that I’d join in even if I wasn’t,” she nodded towards her tummy again, “you know?”

“Of course not,” agreed the officer.

“Here we are,” Willow gestured for the officer to walk into the throne chamber ahead of her.

Every spare inch of space appeared to be covered in writhing bodies in various states of undress. Willow averted her eyes for a moment, in her present condition it all made her feel rather sick. Forcing herself to look, she saw Mark Anthony and Cleopatra slumped on their thrones at the other end of the room. Searching a little more she saw Lucius’ red cloak; he was leaning against a pillar sipping from a gold goblet. She waved to catch his eye. He smiled at her but didn’t move, he was on duty and Lucius was a stickler for duty.

Stepping forward she taped the Roman officer on the shoulder, “Good luck,” she whispered.

The officer picked his way gingerly between the heaving bodies until he was within a few feet of Mark Anthony’s throne, he waited a few moments until the General noticed him.

“Speak!” there was a definite slur in Mark Anthony’s voice as he waved an arm languidly.

“His honour, Gaius Octavian Caesar states that his answer is ‘no’.”

Well, thought Willow as she stepped carefully between two copulating couples, Octavian has refused Mark Anthony’s offer. Willow couldn’t really blame this Octavian guy, she didn’t trust Mark Anthony further than she could throw him, as that was ‘not at all’ it wasn’t very far.

“That’s all?” replied Mark Anthony softly, Cleopatra made no comment what-so-ever.

“He demands that you surrender yourself and your people without conditions.”

Willow was really beginning to admire this Roman Officer, he was certainly brave. Few people got to live for long after telling Mark Anthony ‘no’. Mark Anthony shifted on his throne, Cleopatra spoke for the first time.

“Calm,” she told Mark Anthony softly.

“I am calm,” Mark Anthony lifted his chin a little and started to sound more like a Roman. “You go and tell…” although he claimed to be ‘calm’ there was an edge to Mark Anthony’s voice, “...that frog-spawned humucuius…”

Willow squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of frog-spawn; by now Mark Anthony was shouting, his claim to be ‘calm’ completely forgotten.

“Calm,” Cleopatra turned towards her husband.

“…that I…” Mark Anthony’s voice dissolved to nothing.

“Vorenus,” Cleopatra turned to Lucius, “find this man a drink or something.”

Nodding his head to the Queen, Lucius stepped forward and ushered the officer over to where Willow stood on the edge of the orgy.

“Titus Pullo,” the officer spoke quietly to Lucius as Willow approached, “says that your children are well and hopes that his is are well also.”

Smiling Willow came to a halt next to Lucius, he’d told her all about Titus, Cleopatra and a night spent in a desert tent. Lucius reacted my laughing quietly, he turned to Willow and gave her a half smile.

“Not everything is lost if Pullo is here,” he confided.

“He says it is a private joke,” continued the Roman, “he said you’d understand.”

“So he’s here?” asked Lucius.

“Close to Caesar,” replied the officer, “he answers for your safety…and that of your woman,” the officer nodded to Willow putting two and two together, “if you will forsake Anthony and find a way to open the gate.”

“Some hope,” Willow sighed to herself, “Lucius Vorenus break his word? Never happen, not in a million years.”

Vorenus gave her a sharp look before answering.

“You tell Pullo that his child is well,” Lucius spoke slowly and firmly, “but he has forgotten who I am.”

“Told you,” Willow muttered.

“You! Emissary!” Anthony called from the other side of the room, he seemed to be in control of himself again; he stood up, swayed a little then faced the officer. “A challenge, I challenge your master to single combat.”

“Sir?” The Roman was clearly surprised by the offer.

“Yeah,” Willow said quietly as she shook her head, “like that’s gonna happen.”

“Let him meet me,” Anthony swayed unsteadily, “face to face with sword and shield.”

“Yeah, right,” from what Willow knew of Octavian, even half drunk and high on drugs Anthony would still cut him into mincemeat.

Octavian held all the cards, Anthony and the Queen were trapped, there was no way out. Why should he surrender his advantage and risk everything on a piece macho posturing? Glancing over at Lucius, Willow could see he was thinking the same as she was. Even the queen knew it was futile, she whispered in Anthony’s ear trying to get him to calm down no doubt. After a final burst of bluster from Anthony the officer left the room.

“Vorenus,” Anthony called softly, “fetch some weapons, we must practice.”

Lucius strode off to collect swords and shields leaving Willow alone in the throne room. Frowning angrily, Willow looked around, Lucius was obviously too blinded by his duty to Anthony to see it. Maybe he did see it, perhaps he wanted to die? Willow had hoped she had given him a reason to live but obviously she’d failed. Well, she thought, she wasn’t going to die when the Romans stormed over the walls, she had her child to think of. If needs be she'd open the gates herself.

Stopping herself, Willow took a deep breath; but that wasn’t how it had happened. There was the whole asp thing to consider. Perhaps she needed to be sneakier and for all his faults Lucius wasn’t such a bad guy. He certainly didn’t deserve to die because he was too foolish to see which way the wind was blowing; she’d never get him to desert Anthony…but what if Anthony wasn’t around any more?

Looking up she saw the Queen leave the throne room. Cleopatra was a conniving bitch, who looked out for herself first, last and always. Willow smiled wickedly, a plan was forming in her mind, yes it just might work. Glancing over to where Lucius and Anthony had at each other with their swords and shields, Willow followed the queen to her chambers.

0=0=0=0

“Great Queen,” Willow stepped uncertainly into the Queen’s apartment, none of the guards seemed inclined to stop her, the queen turned to look at her.

“Who are you and…” Willow saw the look of recognition cross the queen’s face, “Yes you’re Vorenus’ woman…what do you want?”

“Great Queen,” Willow walked a little further into the apartment, the queen was alone apart from her most trusted slaves, “you wish to keep your children safe and hold on to your crown…?”

It was a statement not a question, the queen nodded as Willow knew she would; she knew the queen would play along with almost anything she said. If not she’d have called her guards and had Willow thrown out and probably killed. The fact that she hadn’t showed she was willing to consider anything. Willow was willing to suggest anything to save her child and if at all possible Lucius.

“Your majesty,” Willow smiled, “I have a cunning plan!”

0=0=0=0


	9. Chapter 9

9.

 

Slipping silently from the bed she shared with Lucius, Willow got up and pulled her dress on over her head. Padding quietly across the room on bare feet she carefully picked up her charms and talismans before tip-toeing from the chamber. Walking through the empty corridors of the palace she noted how every day the number of guards got less and less as men went over the walls and deserted to the Romans. 

As Willow walked she said the words of the ‘Cloak of Concealment’ spell so that even if she did meet an early rising slave they’d not notice her. Very soon she came to the queen’s apartment, Cleopatra slept alone in her bed. Willow guessed that Mark Anthony had fallen asleep in the throne room after the drinking bout he’d had with Lucius. Making not a sound Willow crossed the room unnoticed by the guards and stood over the sleeping form of the queen, how easy it would be just to kill her now; but that probably wouldn’t save Lucius.

“Wake-up,” Willow breathed the words softly into the sleeping queen’s ear, “you have work to do.”

Stepping back into the shadows, Willow watched as the queen awoke and called for her personal slave. It had been easy to convince the queen of her idea; Anthony had already been considering suicide. Cleopatra, however, was still greedy for life, she had her children to live for and she wanted to hold on to her kingdom. It'd only cost Willow the smallest sliver of her conscious and a little magic to convince Cleopatra that with Anthony dead she could make a deal with Octavian.

Of course it wouldn’t do for the queen to just have her husband killed, he would have to die by his own hand. So, Willow had hatched her plan, but it had to be carried out now before Anthony saw Cleopatra. Anthony’s decision to stay up drinking with Lucius had been a god send. It was almost as if Willow had planned it like that. When the slave presented Anthony with Cleopatra’s suicide note, he would immediately believe it was genuine.

Watching as the queen wrote her letter, Willow smiled. With Anthony out of the way Lucius would have no reason to stay wedded to a lost cause, they would be able to escape and maybe he’d even take her back to Rome. She had no reason to believe Lucius would join Anthony in death. Lucius had the child that Willow carried to live for, also he’d become close to the boy, Caesarian who was really the son of his friend Titus Pullo. It was all very confusing, Willow sighed as she watched the queen finish her letter, almost as bad as an episode of ‘Days of our Lives’!

A slave was dragged forward by a guard who killed the unfortunate girl so that there’d be blood for Cleopatra’s slave to smear on her dress. Willow winced at the death of the girl, it had been unnecessary, Willow justified it by telling herself that it had been no part of her plan and it simply showed how evil Cleopatra was. Once everything was prepared Cleopatra’s slave got up and left for the throne room. As silently as a ghost, Willow followed.

0=0=0=0

Stepping around the blood stain where Anthony had killed one of his guests the night before, Willow stood in the deep shadow behind a pillar as Cleopatra’s slave tip-toed across the chamber and knelt next to the sleeping form of Anthony. The slave shook Anthony awake and handed him Cleopatra’s note; Willow smiled as Anthony read the letter.

_Dearest Love, forgive me for leaving you this way. You know how I hate to say goodbye. I will see you again on the other side. Please come quickly._

Watching as Anthony cried out his grief Willow couldn’t help but smile, soon, very soon she and hers would be able to escape this place. Just as she was about to leave her hiding place to whisper in Anthony’s ear that his life was pointless without Cleopatra; Lucius entered the chamber dressed in his armour as if he’d never left Anthony’s side. Quickly Willow stepped back into the shadow.

“Sweet…” gasped Anthony through his tears, “...w-why didn’t…Why didn’t she wait for me?”

“The queen must die alone,” lied the slave, “it is the custom.”

“Oh…” sobbed Anthony, Willow almost felt sorry for the man…almost.

“With her last breath,” the slave lied convincingly for her queen, “she called your name.”

For a moment Anthony seemed to find comfort in this.

“Please,” he whispered patting the slave’s hand distractedly, “you go away now.”

Standing obediently the slave turned and walked away, going back to her queen.

“Here it is then,” Anthony had managed to regain control of himself, he spoke calmly to Lucius who stood near by. “Anything to get rid of this fucking hangover.”

Anthony got unsteadily to his feet, he looked at the knife he still held in his hand from cutting open Cleopatra’s letter.

“No,” he cast the weapon aside, “this won’t do. Lets use a proper Roman sword.”

Lucius stepped forward and offered Anthony his own weapon. Anthony took the Gladius, almost lovingly and turned it over in his hand before drawing the blade from its scabbard.

“It’s a damn good sword,” whispered Anthony turning it this way and that.

For a moment Willow thought the man might not go through with it, she was just about to cast a minor spell to push him over the edge when…

“It’s a good place to die anyway,” Anthony cast away the sword’s sheath, “men who knew Alexander walked these halls. It could have been a ditch in Gaul.”

“Good as place as any,” Lucius nodded as he spoke quietly, Willow had to strain to hear what he said, “I suppose.”

“Lucius Vorenus,” Anthony took hold of Lucius’ shoulder, “I enter the end. Don’t you die here with me. Get out while you can.”

Willow smiled, this couldn’t be better if she’d planned it, now Lucius had been given what amounted to an order not to die.

“I’ll do that,” nodded Lucius, “it’s been an honour serving with you, sir.”

“Has it?” Anthony smiled and almost laughed, “Well…I hope so.”

Giving Lucius the hilt of the sword, Anthony placed the point just below his rib cage.

“Brace it there for me,” he spoke as if asking Lucius to pass him the wine.

“Any instructions or messages, sir?” Lucius braced himself ready for what was to happen next.

Anthony thought for a moment, “No,” he said quietly before adding, “Tell the people I died well. I died Roman.” Pausing as if to think of something else to say, Anthony looked one last time into Lucius’ face, “Infamy, Vorenus…”

“Sir?” Lucius gave his general a puzzled frown.

“Infamy,” Anthony repeated tiredly, “infamy, they’ve all got it in for me.”

Taking hold of Lucius’ shoulders, Anthony hesitated for a moment before pulling himself onto the blade held in Lucius’ hand. he gasped as the blood began to trickle down his stomach and legs. He clutched at Lucius as if they were brothers hugging each other farewell. Which Willow supposed they were; she'd been surprised at the way Anthony had acted, and admitted to herself that she’d misjudged the man, she wiped away the tear that ran down her cheek. He’d had to die to save Lucius, herself and their child.

Slowly, Lucius laid the body of his dead general on the floor. He withdrew his sword from Anthony’s body before he started to clean up the blood. First he wiped up the blood, then he washed off the Egyptian make-up that masked his master’s face. Finally he dressed Anthony in a Roman tunic and his armour before lifting him up and onto the throne. All this time, Willow watched from the darkness of the shadows and wondered if she had done the right thing.

Turning at a noise behind her, Willow watched as Cleopatra entered the throne room surrounded by her slaves and her guards. Walking across the chamber right through the pool of sticky blood that had oozed from Anthony’s wound; she walked up to the throne where Anthony’s body sat and burst into great sobs of faux grief as she fell at Anthony’s feet. All the time Lucius watched, a look of loathing and hatred on his face, he sat down on the steps to the throne and gazed on the queen in disgust. The queen looked up at him.

“Lucius Vorenus wishes to speak?” she demanded.

“No,” replied Lucius simply.

“Then he shall stop looking at me,” sniffed the queen.

Lucius leant forward and stared even harder at the queen.

“I gave you an order!” the queen almost shouted.

“I take no orders from you,” replied Lucius; Willow suddenly felt very proud of her man.

“I let you live because Anthony was fond of you,” replied the queen menacingly, “do not test me now.”

Willow stood and gathered her magics, one move against Lucius and she would rain down such destruction Cleopatra would think the world had ended.

“Kiss…my…arse!” Lucius stood up to tower over the queen, “You’re lucky I don’t open your stomach!”

The queen’s guards shifted uneasily.

“I wonder that you’ve not followed your captain,” you had to give Cleopatra her due she sounded calm and unafraid when she spoke.

“I would have,” breathed Lucius, “but I have to get Caesarian out of here. If he stays Octavian will kill him.”

“He’s perfectly safe,” replied Cleopatra, “I’ve made a pact with Octavian. I keep my crown and no harm will come to my people.”

“No you are wrong,” Lucius shook his head slowly, “Caesarion, another son of Caesar? Octavian…will…kill him!”

“No!” gasped the queen beginning to see that Lucius was telling the truth, “He’s just a child.”

“He’ll die,” Lucius replied flatly. “and for what, hmm? We both know he’s not the son of Caesar.”

“We know nothing of the sort,” snarled the queen.

“I was there at his conception,” whispered Lucius.

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” the queen snapped, “he _is_ the son of Caesar.”

“Whatever,” sighed Lucius, “if he stays here he dies. You’d see that if your desire to live hadn’t blinded you.”

“What is he to you?” Cleopatra wanted to know.

“He is the son of a good friend of mine,” Lucius explained, “I will take the boy to him and he’ll be safe.”

The queen paused to consider the things she'd been told. Willow could almost hear the cogs within cogs going around in her mind. Finally the queen looked at Lucius.

“This man,” she asked, “is he a good man?”

“Define good,” Lucius snapped back.

Just then there was the sound of footsteps from the far end of the chamber, turning Willow saw Cleopatra’s children being led into the room and over to their mother. Moving deeper into the shadows, Willow watched as the children were shown the body of their dead father. After a moment or two the queen’s personal slave took the two younger children away. Willow almost sobbed aloud as the little princess waved over her shoulder of the slave at her dead father. Hugging Caesarion, Cleopatra told her son that he must go with Lucius who would take him to safety. At first the boy refused to go saying that his place was at his mother’s side, but Cleopatra insisted and the boy went reluctantly away with Lucius. Stepping quickly from the shadows, Willow followed Lucius and the boy out of the throne room and along a corridor.

“Lucius!” she called after him; he slowed and turned to her a look of relief on his face.

“Shani!” Lucius almost smiled, “Quick we must go, any moment now Octavian’s men will be in the palace.”

“I know,” Willow rushed up to Lucius and kissed him quickly on the lips, “take the boy and I’ll meet you outside the city tonight.”

“But…” Lucius was about to explain what a bad idea that would be.

“Don’t worry,” Willow smiled and placed a finger on Lucius’ lips to silence him, “I’ll find you; witch, remember, and I still have work to do here.”

“Of course,” Lucius nodded his head, “but what is left to do, the queen has made a pact with Octavian.”

“Yes,” Willow nodded her head then made a magical sign over Caesarion, the boy froze in time, “do you really want her to live after she tricked Anthony into killing himself?”

“No!” gasped Lucius.

“Yes,” smiled Willow, “I will take your revenge on her…and anyway its what’s meant to happen.”

“What’s meant to happen?” repeated Lucius, “What are you talking about?”

“Fate,” Willow shrugged her shoulders, “take the boy some place safe, I will follow as soon as I’ve finished up here.”

“But…” Lucius found himself talking to empty air.

“Vorenus!” Caesarion looked up at the man, “We must go, my mother…”

“Come,” ordered Lucius and led the boy along the corridor and out of the palace.

0=0=0=0

Running into the throne room Cleopatra threw herself, sobbing at Anthony’s feet.

“Close the doors!” cried Cleopatra as she sobbed uncontrollable. “I’m sorry my love,” she looked up into Anthony’s dead face, “I was hungry to live, but you were right about that boy.”

Cleopatra had just come back to her palace after a meeting with Octavian, in the shadows Willow smiled to herself, obviously the meeting had not gone as well as Cleopatra had hoped.

“A monster!” sniffed the queen, “He only wants me alive to parade me in chains for the Roman mob to spit at!”

Cleopatra climbed into Anthony’s lap and pulled his arm around her as if he were still alive.

“I lied to you for nothing,” she whispered in the dead man’s ear; turning slightly Cleopatra looked down at her slave, “bring the old woman.”

Bristling slightly at being referred to as ‘the old woman’, Willow smiled, that sounded like her cue.

0=0=0=0

Kneeling in front of the throne, Willow looked up at the queen; she had to admit her slaves had done a remarkable job of cleaning the woman up. They’d dressed her in all her royal finery and applied cosmetics so there was on sign of the queen’s earlier distress. For a moment Willow almost felt respect for the woman who was going to die so soon, what if… No, Willow crushed any thoughts of mercy for the queen, she was an evil woman and history had to take its course…didn’t it? Taking a red bottle from the basket at her side, Willow held it up for the queen to see.

“The belladonna is not fast,” explained Willow quietly, “but it’s, totally the least painful.”

“Yes,” the queen spoke barely louder than a whisper, “I know.” The queen frowned as she considered something, “Which leaves one looking best, I want no bloating or discolouration.”

Vain to the last, sighed Willow.

“The snake but…” Willow put the bottle down and reached for a small basket; deep down she knew this was not how it really happened; this was just Shakespeare’s fiction.

“Is it quick?” the queen wanted to know.

“Forty breaths,” replied Willow, “give or take.”

“The snake then,” Cleopatra sat, head held high without a trace of fear on her face, even the bad guys could be brave.

Taking the lid from the small basket, Willow reached in and pulled forth the snake, it was small and black. It didn’t look very dangerous at all, but Willow knew that one bite would completely paralyse a victim in less than a minute. The queen took the snake from Willow’s hand and held it in her own for a moment she smiled a sad smile.

“It doesn’t look like much,” the queen looked into the creature’s eyes as it flicked it tongue at her, “The one that took cousin Seth was green.”

“They vary,” Willow explained, “this is the needful creature.”

“Where’s the best spot?” the queen asked calmly.

“Wrist or breast,” said Willow, “it totally doesn’t matter.”

“Thank-you,” the queen smiled at Willow before holding the snake to her breast, “now bite.”

The queen gasped at the snake bit her and then a frown crossed her face.

“Nothing…” Cleopatra gasped again, “Oh yes!.”

As the queen started to breathe more heavily, Willow packed away her things and quietly stood up before starting to fade away into the background. It was time for her to go, leave the queen to her fate. Hearing running footsteps in the background, Willow cast a concealment spell and watched as the Romans lead by Octavian rushed into the room. It looked like the last act of this drama was about to be played out; she might as well stay to watch.

Cleopatra’s laboured breathing echoed around the chamber as Octavian advanced on the throne. He walked up the steps to where the queen sat, studying her as if she was some strange creature. Looking up at the young man who’d destroyed her plans, Cleopatra forced herself to her feet, breathing heavily she took a step towards Octavian.

“You…” the queen looked Octavian directly in the eye without a trace of fear, “...have a rotten soul.”

After this last show of defiance she stumbled back to her throne where she collapsed, frantically she searched for Anthony’s hand. Holding on to her lover and husband she took another ragged breath and finally died. Nodding her head, Willow felt satisfied, everything was as it should be, now she only had to find Lucius and maybe she could rebuild her life. Perhaps she could even live happily ever after. Using her last reserves of magic she teleported herself out into the desert.

0=0=0=0


	10. Chapter 10

10.

**A Road Somewhere in Egypt.**

“…he only offered to parley and says the whole thing was your fault,” Pullo sat on the bench at the front of the cart bringing Vorenus up to date with what had been happening in Rome, “and me and him should make peace.”

“What did you reply?” Vorenus wanted to know.

“I head butted the fucker and bit his tongue out,” Pullo replied matter-of-factly.

“He took that as a ‘no’ then?” Vorenus commented with a grin.

Both men laughed in a comradely way, even Willow found herself smiling at the story, after all it was as good a way as any to stop an argument in its tracks. Willow sat in the back of the little cart with Caesarion. As promised they had all met up in the desert the night before. At first, Willow had been a little surprised to find the big Roman soldier there, but after Vorenus had introduced him she’d felt quite comfortable in the man’s presence.

It had been that night that Pullo had told Caesarion that his mother had died. He told him in his (what Willow later found out to be) usual blunt manner. The boy had not taken it well of course and Willow had tried to comfort him. The little brat had rejected her advances and pushed her away. Sighing, Willow had cast a low power sleep spell over the child. Watching as he’d fallen asleep, Willow had covered him with a blanket and then joined the two men to discuss what was to be done.

‘Discuss’, wasn’t really the right word; what actually happened was that Pullo and Vorenus planned what they were going to do and Willow just nodded her head. After all, she was just a woman, what did she know? To be honest Willow was too tired to care; she was pregnant, she’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours and she’d used a lot of magic, she was beat.

After the men had decided to make their way across the desert to the sea; Pullo would then take the boy back to Rome while Vorenus went east to sell his sword. Willow was a little concerned that she and her child didn’t seem to feature in any of Vorenus’ plans, but she was too tired to worry overly much about it. It could all wait until tomorrow.

They’d awoken early the next morning and had set out across the stony sand that made up the desert in these parts. Around mid-morning they’d come on a village where they’d bought supplies and the cart. After a short rest they continued their journey on towards the Mediterranean coast where they hoped to pick up a ship to take Pullo and the boy on to Rome.

“You bit out his tongue!?” Caesarion sounded as if he was going to be sick; Willow giggled a little at the look on the boy’s face.

“I did,” Pullo replied happily, “it tasted like chicken!”

“That’s disgusting!” Caesarion’s look of ickiness turned to one of distaste; Willow laughed out loud, then…

“OH!” Willow cried as they went over a rut in the track, she clutched at her tummy, “Are you two deliberately driving over every rut and pothole in Egypt? What are you trying to do? Shake this child out of me instead of waiting for nature to take its course?”

“Does she always complain so much?” Pullo glanced first at Vorenus and then back at Willow; wisely Vorenus said nothing and just shrugged his shoulders. Opening his mouth to speak, Pullo was silenced by the look on Willow’s face.

“Don’t you dare try and patronise me,” Willow snapped at Pullo, “just say one wrong word and its elephant balls for you.”

The big soldier turned to give his friend a puzzled frown unsure of what Willow was talking about.

“Best keep your mouth shut,” Vorenus suggested, “she can, you know…”

“What?” Pullo was totally mystified by now.

“Give you elephant balls,” Vorenus explained.

“Rubbish,” Pullo tutted in disbelief.

“I’ve seen her do some strange things,” Vorenus explained in a low voice, “just watch your words around her, eh?” he paused for a moment, “Anyway, you know what pregnant women are like?”

Pullo nodded his head sadly; he did indeed know what pregnant women were like; he decided to try and be a little more caring, after all she was Vorenus’ woman.

“Damned straight buster,” Willow muttered almost as if she’d been reading Pullo’s mind.

0=0=0=0

All went well until mid-afternoon, Vorenus was at least trying to avoid the worst of the potholes and they appeared to be in a more pleasant part of the country. They were travelling along a track between high bluffs; there was even a river with reeds and birds along its bank. They’d just come around a long shallow bend in the track when they saw the road block up ahead. About a dozen Roman soldiers stood near the barricade or in the little camp that stood next to the road.

“Cack!” Pullo exclaimed when he caught sight of the soldiers, “Fifteen gold says I kill more than you.” He turned slightly to look into the rear of the cart, “Best keep down, it’s gonna get wet.”

Getting up onto her knees to see what was going on; Willow cast the sky a wary look.

“Doesn’t look like…” catching sight of the soldiers she realised what Pullo was talking about, “Oh!”

“Wait,” Vorenus said calmly, “we can talk our way through.”

“Gerrae,” Pullo shook his head, “as soon as his majesty opens his mouth, we’re cooked.”

Willow nodded to herself; Pullo had a point. The boy was bound to give them away, if only she’d had some warning she might have been able to disguise the child in some way. As it was the best she could do was to make sure the boy put on his travelling cloak to cover his good clothes and put up the hood to hide his face.

“Let’s just go at ‘em,” Pullo suggested in a whisper.

“No,” Vorenus replied firmly, “and that’s an order.”

“Grumpy and cautious as ever,” Pullo muttered with just a hint of amusement; Willow found herself smiling in agreement, “like an old sheepdog, you.”

Peering between the two men, Willow could see the barrier across the road with two soldiers guarding it, a third walked slowly out to meet them.

“Salve, captain!” Vorenus called out pleasantly as he brought the cart to a halt in front of the road block.

“Romans are you?” the solder asked walking over to stand looking up at Vorenus. “Don’t see many citizens out here,” the officer said conversationally, “what’s your business?”

“Hunting sphinxes!” Pullo said with a smile.

“No such thing as sphinxes,” the officer returned Pullo’s grin.

“Now he tells us,” Pullo shook his head in mock disappointment.

“We’re grain merchants,” Vorenus explained before Pullo could say anything else, “we’ve just lost our way, we’re looking for the road to Memphis.”

“Grain merchants eh?” the officer moved to look into the back of the Cart.

At first the soldier didn’t pay Caesarion any heed, he looked down a Willow and nodded his head to her in greeting; Willow smiled back. Icy fingers were running up and down her spine, she was sure this wasn’t going to end well. Gathering her magic, Willow waited for the fight to begin.

“Lost your way?” the officer shifted his gaze from Willow to Caesarion, “What’s y’name, boy?”

“Aeneas,” Caesarion replied a little too haughtily, Willow cringed inside and felt the magics tingle at her finger tips.

“Bit haughty for a slave?” the officer looked up at Vorenus and Pullo.

“He is,” agreed Pullo, “I beat him every day but it doesn’t seem to do any good.”

“On you way then,” the officer smiled broadly at Pullo and started to walk back towards the road block; as he did so he said some thing in Egyptian that neither Vorenus or Pullo understood but Willow did.

‘Please bless us with your forgiveness, sacred majesty’, was what the soldier said. Willow willed the boy to keep quiet.

“Granted, mortal!” Caesarion replied imperiously.

“Crap!” muttered Willow under her breath; if they survived this maybe she’d help Pullo beat the boy every day. After all she’d developed some muscle over the years carrying water and the like; it would be a pity to see it go to waste. But first they had to live through the next few minutes.

“I told you,” Pullo looked at Vorenus just before he jumped from the cart; Vorenus kicked the officer in the face before he joined Pullo in leaping to the ground.

Grabbing a sword from under the seat of the cart Vorenus turned to confront one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the road block. Willow grabbed hold of Caesarion and pulled him down onto the floor of the cart from where he’d been sitting. Glancing over the side of the cart, Willow saw Vorenus cut down the first soldier and felt a great feeling of pride in her chest.

On the other side of the cart Pullo had also taken up a sword from somewhere and was at present gutting the other soldier from the road block. Finding herself admiring the big man’s muscles and sword work, she held Caesarion firmly, preventing him from interfering and probably getting killed in the process. Turning back to watch Vorenus, Willow gasped in horror as a soldier came up behind her lover and thrust his sword into Vorenus’ back. Vorenus cried out in pain as Willow felt her heart jump into her mouth. Then she sighed with relief as Vorenus turned and slashed open his attacker’s throat sending a fountain of blood squirting into the air.

Back on the other side of the cart, Pullo had dispatched another two soldiers: he’d climbed up onto the cart and jumped down on the other side to join Vorenus. As he passed he ordered Caesarion and Willow to take cover. Willow let go of the boy and pushed him towards the back of the cart. Caesarion, for once realising that he had to do as he was told, scrambled off the back of the cart and took shelter under it. Willow looked down at her swollen belly and realised she wasn’t going anywhere fast, or even slowly; she’d say where she was and take her chances.

Almost before she’d made her decision a soldier jumped up on the driving seat of the cart and raised his sword to take a swing at Pullo. Reacting without thinking, Willow raised her hand hitting the man with a blast of magic. The soldier screamed as his chest was caved in and he flew from the cart to land in the river several yards away.

“Golly!” Willow gasped looking at her hand in wonder.

By now Vorenus and Pullo were fighting as a team, Willow watched as they met every attack with flashing blades and a welter of blood. Roman soldiers fell clutching at wounds that oozed bright red. By now all of the little garrison was engaged, dead or wounded. The fight appeared to be coming to a climax and Willow found herself cheering her side on to final victory. A noise made her turn; a lightly injured soldier was reaching into the back of the cart and was trying to grab hold of her ankle.

“No you don’t!” Willow snapped gesturing with her hand; a discarded sword that had been lying on the track suddenly flew through the air and rammed itself into the soldier’s back.

Crying out in pain and alarm the soldier crashed to the ground right in front of Caesarion’s nose who was still hiding under the cart. The sight of the dead man proved too much for what remained of the boy’s courage. He crawled out from under the cart and made a dash for the reeds by the river bank.

“NO!” Willow screamed after the boy; she saw the Roman officer, the man who’d stopped them and tricked Caesarion into giving himself away, stand up and stagger, sword in hand, after Caesarion.

The officer quickly caught up with the panicking boy and was just about to plunge his sword into the boy’s back. With a loud, wet, *PHUT!* the officer’s head exploded sending skull, brains and blood in every direction. Climbing slowly down from the cart, Willow waddled over to where Caesarion cowered, she dabbed at the blood that dripped from her nose.

“Don’t you ever run off like that again,” Willow warned the boy angrily, “or I’ll do the same to you!”

By the time Willow and Caesarion got back to the cart, Vorenus and Pullo stood triumphant surrounded by a pile of dead or groaning Roman soldiers. As Pullo turned to congratulate his old friend, Vorenus groaned and fell to the ground. In an instant Pullo and Willow were kneeling at his side.

“Is he alright?” Caesarion called from the back of the cart.

“Huh?” Pullo knelt beside his friend shocked at his sudden collapse.

“Of course he’s not, you stupid little brat!” Snapped Willow as her hands roamed over Vorenus’ body trying to find the wound, she looked into Pullo’s face, “Turn him over for me.”

“I’ve seem worse,” Pullo turned Vorenus onto his side and looked at the wound in his friends back, he glanced up at Willow with worried eyes, “He’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” Willow nodded her head as her fingers probed the wound, it was deep and wide; it was important not to let on how badly injured a man was. 

While Vorenus had never struck Willow as the type of man who’d just give up you had to be careful.

“No I’m done,” Vorenus was breathing heavily every movement brought a look of pain to his face.

“Gerrae,” Pullo tried to make light of everything, “you big girl.”

“Boy!” Willow turned to look at Caesarion, “Bring me my bag…now!”

The boy jumped from the back of the cart clutching Willow’s bag full of poultices and dressings. He ran over and gave it to Willow.

“Its just a few scratches,” Pullo looked at the blood on his hand then at Willow.

“I’ll do what I can,” Willow reassured him but in her mind she knew it wouldn’t be enough; if only there was a modern hospital close by. But she couldn’t wait two thousand years so she’d have to do what she could. 

“We just need to rest up somewhere,” Pullo glanced at Willow and got an answering nod for his suggestion. “Just a couple of days, you’ll be back on your feet then.”

Willow snorted as she packed Vorenus’ wound with a poultice and started to wrap a bandage around him to keep it in place.

“Take me home,” Vorenus groaned.

“We won’t be going anywhere,” Willow pointed out, “if you don’t help me with this bandage…Pullo?”

“Yes, yes,” the big man turned Vorenus onto his side again so Willow could work more easily, “of course.” He turned to look down at Vorenus, “Home’s a long way, its best we just…”

“I don’t want to die in this fucking shit hole,” Vorenus held onto both Pullo and Willow with surprising strength. “I want to see my children…take me home.”

“Alright, brother,” Pullo spoke softly as Willow felt the tears start to fill her eyes as she worked on her injured lover. “We’ll do that.”

0=0=0=0

It took them a month to get Vorenus home to Rome. Willow could never understand how she’d managed to keep the man alive for so long but some how she did. Often working long into the night she tried to stop the wound from becoming infected, but in the end she knew she’d lose the fight. Death would have its way and Vorenus’ fever would get worse and he’d eventually die. It was on the voyage home that she gave birth to Vorenus’ son who she called Lucius after his father. Seeing his new born son had made Vorenus rally a little and it was probably that which kept him alive long enough to reach Rome on the day of Octavian’s triumph. A few days later Vorenus died of his wounds, Willow thanked the Goddess that he’d lived long enough to see his children again and make his peace with them. It was only then that Willow started to wonder what was to become of her.

0=0=0=0

**Back in the SPQR.**

“Shani,” Pullo walked across the tavern and sat down on the bench next to Willow, “how’s young Lucius today?”

“Fine,” replied Willow, she looked down at her son as he lay in his crib, “he’s got a fine set of lungs on him that’s for sure.”

“Yes,” Pullo let the child grasp hold of one of his fingers, “his father could yell an order across the battlefield. Used to sound like he was standing right behind me.”

“He never really loved me, you know?” Willow said softly, “Not deep down were it matters.”

“No,” Pullo shook his head, “I don’t suppose he did…tortured soul was our Lucius Vorenus.”

“Hey!” Willow looked at Pullo sharply, “Aren’t you supposed to say something like, ‘of course he loved you’?”

“Would you want me to lie to you?” Pullo glanced out of the corner of his eye at Willow.

“No,” Willow sighed, “I don’t suppose I do…so what now?”

“Well,” Pullo stood up all business, a big smile on his face, “responsible man, me…” his smile got wider, “least ways I am now. Wasn’t always so, anyway you’ve got a home here for as long as you want it…”

“Thanks but…” Willow began but was interrupted by Pullo.

“Vorenus said you’d start to say ‘no thank-you’,” for a moment Pullo’s face lost its grin.

“He did?” Willow wondered if Vorenus had known her better than she’s suspected.

“He did,” Pullo nodded, “but I swore to look after you and his son…and knowing you had an independent nature…”

“And?” Willow moved to pick up her son.

“Local wise woman died a few weeks ago,” Pullo shrugged his massive shoulders, “maybe she wasn’t that wise, eh? Well, her shop is still empty, I can see to it that its yours. Good position it is, you should make a good living if you’re half the witch Vorenus claimed you were.”

0=0=0=0

A month after Vorenus’ death, Willow found herself standing on the corner of an alley that led off the plaza outside the Senate building. Her hand rested on the shoulder of Caesarion (now called Aeneas) as they waited for Pullo to reappear after his meeting with First Citizen Octavian.

Rome was something of a disappointment to Willow; she’d expected pristine white marble buildings with great columns and sweeping boulevards. What she had found were narrow fetid alleys, brick buildings covered in gaudily painted, crumbling plaster and of course graffiti. It was everywhere and some of its content had shocked Willow to her core; she’d thought herself unshockable after living at Cleopatra’s court for so long.

Movement over by the senate building caught her eye, she smiled to see Pullo’s tall, well muscled frame plough through the crowd towards her. Willow felt her heart beat a little faster at Pullo’s approach, she wasn’t simply glad to see him leave the senate; she was glad just to see him again. Willow called herself a slut under her breath before smiling in greeting at Pullo as he towered over herself and Caesarion.

“So?” demanded Caesarion; Willow cuffed the boy across the back of his head.

“Don’t speak to your…” Willow stopped herself from saying ‘father’ at the last moment, she corrected herself, “...guardian like that. Keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“He bought it,” ‘he’ meaning Octavian; Pullo held up a heavy purse of gold coins, payment for ‘killing’ Caesarion.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Willow clapped her hands with joy and then, quite spontaneously stood on tip-toe and kissed Pullo on the cheek. The big soldier actually blushed and then slipped his arm around Willow’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. By this time Caesarion had started to walk briskly off towards the tavern run by Pullo and his gang. 

“Brother Osiris,” Caesarion looked up to the heavens, “let me live to spit in his face and remind him of this day!” 

“Didn't I tell you,” Pullo warned the boy gruffly, “there's to be no more of that blather?”

“Yes,” agreed Willow, “no more blather, right?” 

“Blather?” the boy stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face the two adults, “It's my sacred duty. By my blood-oath, I will not rest until I have avenged my mother and redeemed my father's name.” 

“Listen,” Pullo looked down at Willow and received an answering shrug to his unasked question; it was up to him what he told the boy, “about your father...”

THE END.


End file.
